


Guess Who?

by u_muggle



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-20 02:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11911179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/u_muggle/pseuds/u_muggle
Summary: Apple’s new face recognition software identifies your friends by finding the most recurring faces in all your photos. However, Clara soon discovers her phone has created an album for someone she doesn't recognise at all. Someone with suspiciously animated eyebrows and an unruly mass of silver curls.





	1. Thank you Apple....

A pounding headache and the distinct impression of only wearing one shoe. She groaned loudly, shifting over in bed to press her head into her pillow, her hand connecting forcibly with a foreign object. Blearily she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly in the morning light. The blurred outline of a black platform heel emerged, her fingers clutching the ankle straps. Groaning again she turned hastily to the other side of the bed. Bad move. Nausea rolled through her, her head spinning as she tried to will her body not to throw up. Taking deep breaths she sat up slowly in bed.

After taking even more deep breaths, emitting several groans of pain and profusely cursing her past self, she gingerly got out of bed, chucked her remaining shoe onto the floor and wobbly made her way to the bathroom. _Wobbly_ was the key word here.

Gripping the sink with shaky hands she took a deep breath and raised her head to the mirror. Clara Oswald looked rough. From the state of her hair she'd been dragged backwards through a hedge at some point last night, or at least been thoroughly snogged. Clara hoped it was the latter. Her eyes were rimmed with the smeared black remnants of her eye liner and mascara but at least her red lipstick was kind of still intact. Looking down she recognised the telltale sign of spilt alcohol on her short black dress. Vodka? She'd been drinking doubles. Or was it beer from someone else? She remembered the crush of bodies as she'd tried to squeeze her way back from the bar, taking a wide berth around the particularly drunken group of leery men. She needed a shower desperately.

Ten minutes later, after hopping madly around the bathroom trying to pull herself out of her ridiculously tight dress whilst simultaneously quashing her rising nausea at her sudden movements, Clara was watching the remnants of her makeup swirl slowly down the drain.

A few hours later, after pulling on a pair of joggers and an old over sized T-shirt, Clara shuffled through back to her bedroom clutching a steaming mug of tea. Snuggled back under her blankets and feeling marginally human again, she inhaled deeply from her mug. What was that under her thigh? Scrabbling under the blankets Clara eventually pulled out her phone. Taking a sip of tea to fortify herself, she unlocked it and breathed a sigh of relief to find no new notifications from last night. That meant no drunken social media posting and no drunken awkward texts. Clara congratulated her drunk self on being so sensible. Flicking ideally through her apps, she decided to open up her photos.

'Ah, here we go....' she muttered. She scrolled quickly back to what appeared to be the beginning of the night. A selfie in a bar of a bunch of her and her friends, steadily more drunken selfies in the street, blurred photos in what looked like the first club if the following blurred photos were anything to go by and, of course, toilet selfies.

Laughing she paused on a photo of her obviously screaming out lyrics to a song, her eyes scrunched up with joy whilst her friends crowded around her, drunkenly smiling up at the camera. Looking more closely at the photo she noticed Bill, an old friend from university. When was the last time she had gone out with Bill? Clara smiled to herself.

'Thank you Apple...' she mumbled, flicking back to her 'People Album', her thumb poised over the search bar ready to search for Bill using the magic of Apple face recognition. She paused. Who was that?

Amongst the small thumbnails of her friend's and family's familiar faces was a man Clara had never seen before in her life. Startlingly blue eyes looked out at her from underneath a head of crazy silver curls. His mouth set into an almost pout. She frowned. Normally she would have attributed this thumbnail to a stranger in the background of one of her photos, a glitch in the software. But, next to his thumbnail was not the number one, but in fact the number 52. **52** photos! She hastily tapped on his thumbnail and scrolled slowly through the page of photos. At first she thought that it really was a glitch, all the photos were of her and her friends or just photos she had taken while out and about. But the closer she looked at each photo the more she realised that he was there, in the background, every time. There he was sat at a bench in the park wearing black Ray bans, standing looking at a Van Gogh painting in the museum, buying a coffee in that cafe she had gone to last month, walking with a pile of books teetering in his arms in the library, strolling along the beach, even stood looking at the ceiling of the Sagrada Familia and standing next to a canal in Venice in a photo she had taken last year. And finally, there he was, standing moodily on his own in the club last night, wearing what looked like a pair of tartan trousers and a velvet coat.

Clara hastily threw her phone away from her, watching it sink into the depths of her duvet cover. Clutching her mug even tighter now with both hands she took several, calming deep breaths. Clara Oswald had a stalker.


	2. What do I do if I think I have a stalker?

Clara sat there numbly, losing track of time and forgetting almost completely about the mug of tea in her hands. On automatic pilot she took a sip and immediately let it dribble uselessly out of her mouth back into the mug. She'd let her tea go cold. The stark thought of how disgusting cold tea was ripped her from her daze. She placed the mug on her bedside table, squared her shoulders and grabbed her phone once again from her duvet. Maybe it was just a coincidence she thought, but instead her rational mind piped up sarcastically noting that, yeah 52 photos was obviously just a coincidence, especially the photos of him being in foreign countries at the exact same time as her in the exact same tourist spots......She flicked back to the photos, looking intently at his face trying to remember if she did actually know him. Maybe he was a friend of a friend, an old university acquaintance or professor? But no matter how hard she stared at his face she couldn't remember anyone remotely like him in her life. Fuck!

What should she do? Google search ' _what do I do if I think I have a stalker_?'. Phone the police?

'First things first Oswald, pretend you're on 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire', use your lifeline and phone a friend,' she said, hitting Amy's number.

'Hello?....' a very weak and groggy voice answered the phone.

'Amy, it's me, Clara. I need your help. I might be going mental here but...... I need your opinion on something important.' She could hear a rustling noise on Amy's end, a bang and a muffled curse. 'Are you ok Amy?' Clara asked worriedly.

'Yep, fine just walked into the bedroom door. I think I'm still slightly drunk from last night,' replied a more awake sounding Amy. 'Never mind me, what's wrong? You sound like super panicked, like more panicky then your normal control freak self...'

'I think I may have a stalker....' Clara replied, trailing off uncertainly at the end.

'WHAT!!!?? Have you phoned the police?' Amy shouted down the phone. Clara winced.

'I said _may_ , Amy. I'm not sure it's just..... well, you see..... I was looking at my phone this morning and I noticed Bill from some photos last night so I thought I'd see the last time I did anything with her because my brain was addled so I thought I'd let technology do the thinking for me. I used that thing on my iPhone, you know the face recognition thingy? And when I was looking for her I noticed this guy I'd never seen before in my life, so I clicked on his thing and 52 photos came up of him in the background of my photos. Everywhere Amy, like literally everywhere, dating back to like last year....'

'What does he look like?' Amy asked after a few tense minutes of Clara waiting as she picked at the hem of her T-shirt.

'I'll send you a photo over now, hang on,' Clara answered, picking the clearest photo of him she could find, one of him carrying a take away coffee cup through the park down the road from her. 'Have you got it?' she nervously asked Amy.

'Yeah I've got it. Tall, lanky guy with an outrageous amount of grey hair on his head?'

'That's him,' Clara tried to cheerfully answer, not quite hiding the worried edge to her voice. 'Do you know him? Have you ever seen him before?'

'Can't say I do know him but, and you're probably not going to like this..... I do remember him from last night.'

'You do! What did he do? Did I talk to him? Did he talk to you?' Clara questioned immediately. 'Yeah I remember him, he didn't talk to you or to me. Well, not really. I just remember him because you accidentally spilt a bit of your drink on him when you were dancing so I apologised to him and he nodded and said it was fine. I saw him again a couple of hours later on the smoking terrace, he was kind of stood with another guy who was falling all over this woman if you get me, he just looked super uncomfortable. But then, Bill was freaking out about how hot this girl she'd met was and I got distracted. I didn't see him again all evening. I remember thinking he was a bit old to be in the club, but each to their own I suppose....' Amy told Clara truthfully. 'Look, tell you what I'd do. Go out, do normal things and just keep an eye out for him. If you do see him and it worries you then maybe think about phoning the police. If you don't see him then, once again Apple have created software that's just a big ol bag of dicks really.' Clara laughed down the phone, she was so glad at times like these that Amy was the laid back friend she was.

'Thanks Amy, I really appreciate this. You know that right?' Clara replied sincerely.

'Yeah, I know. I'll be wanting regular updates mind you.' Amy said teasingly.

'Ok, I promise, bye Amy!'

'Bye Clara!'

Clara wriggled her toes underneath the duvet contemplatively. She nodded briefly to herself and walked decisively over to her wardrobe. Best to take Amy's advice and get out there then, possibly not too far from the house though. There was still the imminent risk of death by hangover or alternatively by an axe wielding stalker.....


	3. It's a walk in the park

The sun peeked uncertainly from behind thinning white clouds as Clara locked her front door and walked slowly towards the park. She nervously watched every passer-by, her keys gripped strongly in her right hand. Her main house key protruding between her index and middle finger, metal end outwards, to be used as a weapon.... just in case. She'd hastily donned her black leather jacket before leaving the house. The jacket always made her feel more confident, in control, more of a secret bad-ass if she was being truthful to herself.

As Clara rounded the corner of the street she saw the black painted railings of the park come into view. She stopped just outside the gates and peered through into the world beyond. Her brown eyes scanned quickly past the green vegetation, the riot of colours from the begonias and cyclamens in the flower beds, past every wooden bench adorned with a plaque of remembrance, the two small toddlers on balance bikes slowly trundling up and down the path and the other park goers on a Saturday afternoon. She sighed in relief at the absence of a shock of silver curls or a swathe of velvet cutting through the crowd. As far as she could see, he wasn't here. Clara smiled to herself and entered the park, discreetly pocketing her house keys and beginning to really enjoy the colours of the flower beds she passed. Pulling out her phone, she opened the camera and took a few close ups of the flowers to upload to Instragram later.

_#flowers #nature #parkwalks #fuckyoustalker_

As she slowly ambled through the park, moments from last night returned to her. How she'd definitely shared a toilet with a complete stranger at one point during the night and how she inevitably ended up doing tequila slammers without the salt because the bar didn't have any. The burning sensation of straight vodka shots in lurid pink and yellow plastic shot glasses. Dancing carefree to horrendously loud club mixes and screaming uncontrollably when ' _Mr Brightside_ ' by the The Killers came on. Now that Amy mentioned it she did remember being dragged to the smoking terrace and having a ridiculous drunken conversation with a guy, trying to convince him to read Pride and Prejudice and then preceding to snog his face off. Ah so the hair was the latter then....

Deciding that it was probably a good time to get some further caffeine in her body, Clara took the path to her left and crossed the street to her favourite coffee shop. Coffee Barker was a small shop squeezed into a row of terraced houses. She stepped inside to the familiar smell of old leather and roasted coffee beans. The hiss of steam from the barista machines permeated the air as the sanded wooden floorboards creaked under her booted feet. Her eyes searched the room for a free chair but unsurprisingly the popular coffee shop was packed. Her favourite large wing backed armchair in the front window was taken, the patio windows thrown open onto the street to let the air waft in. She stepped up to the counter and ordered an Latte to takeaway. A few minutes later, coffee in hand, Clara emerged from Coffee Barker and headed back towards the park to look for an empty bench to while away some time on.

Just as she was about to cross the road, she saw him. He was heading straight towards her, his hands stuffed firmly into his black jeans, his brow furrowed, muttering to himself. Luckily, he hadn't seen her yet as Clara noted his gaze was firmly ensconced on his black leather boots. She panicked, what should she do, it wouldn't be long until he had to look up to cross the road and then he'd surely see her gawping outside the shop. The longer she waited the closer he came. Shoving her free hand into her jacket pocket she grabbed her house keys and positioned them once again between her index and forefinger. She looked up and found him still resolutely looking down at his shoes, it was now or never. Quickly looking left and right she crossed the road, her eyes fixed on his approaching form. Her heart beating so loudly she thought that he'd surely look up and around to find the source of the noise.

Curiously, as he came closer and closer, she found herself noticing the white and silver flecks on his chin from the beginnings of a beard, the fact that he was wearing a faded David Bowie T-shirt with what looked like a small toothpaste stain on the collar and the way he winced when the sun decided to finally emerge from the clouds. Amy had been wrong in describing his hair as grey, grey was a flat lifeless colour, his hair was silver, seemingly with a life of its own, bouncing with his determined footsteps. His hands although firmly inside his trouser pockets looked to be formed into tight fists, the tendons in his arms flexing as he clenched and unclenched his fingers rhythmically. He was tall, even hunched over as he was now, Clara estimated her head would just about reach his shoulders when he was standing straight. And then she was past him. She was past the gates and walking through the park. Past the toddlers on their balance bikes, past the benches and their plaques, the flowerbeds became an indistinct blur of colours. Her brain trying to focus on placing one foot steadily in front of the other. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. She didn't dare look back, just kept walking, increasing her pace until she was practically running back to her house.

She skidded to a halt in front of her front door, panting for breath, sweating slightly underneath the heavy leather of her jacket, small wisps of hair flying in her face. She hurriedly tried jamming the keys into the lock, failing the first time but finally managing to open her front door. Clara slammed it shut behind her, wrenched the keys from the lock and sunk slowly to the floor. Her leather clad back slid with an elongated squeak down the door. Above the noise of her panting she began to hear a soft jangling noise, frowning slightly she looked around her in confusion. The hallway was its usual self, a small table by the door with a pot for her keys and a jumble of stick-it-notes piled on the wooden surface, a long handled red umbrella propped against the table and an assortment of shoes on the floor. The small rug her Nan had given her with the Aztec patterns was on the floor just out of reach from her feet, the white orb lamp shade hung from the ceiling above her. The noise was still there though, that constant soft jangling. With a start she finally looked down. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, her house keys shaking with them. She bit back a sob and closed her eyes. The jangling continuing to echo through her silent flat.

 


	4. The Island of Doctor Moreau

It had taken Clara some time, three cups of tea, a bubble filled bath and a glass of wine before she finally and completely calmed down from her ordeal. She knew she was being silly, it had been broad daylight in a highly public environment. He couldn't have actually done anything to her without the risk of being seen. The more she thought about the encounter the more her rational mind told her that he couldn't have been stalking her if his eyes where on his shoes and he was obliviously muttering to himself. He had seemed to genuinely have no idea she was even there. Maybe this time it was just a coincidence? Maybe this time could be explained, but what about the fifty odd other times she had captured on photograph and maybe the hundreds of others she hadn't?

She sighed, running her finger around the rim of her wine glass, the red wine swirling hypnotically inside the glass like the maelstrom of her thoughts. It was late and Clara had once again retreated to the safety and comfort of her bed. Placing her wine glass on her bed side table, she turned off the WiFi on her phone and put it on charge face down on the floor. Pulling her duvet up to her chin she closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep. Her mind however was not in the mood to cooperate. Images of her stalker kept flooding her mind, scenario after scenario of him looking up and seeing her, chasing after her in the park, following her home to find out where she lived..... **THUD**! Clara's eyes darted open, staring at the shifting shapes her bedroom had transformed into in the dark, her body was ram rod straight, filled with tension and the urge to bolt. She cautiously reached her arm out to her bedside lamp and swiftly turned it on.

The light shone on her empty room.

She slowly sat up in bed, the duvet clenched in her fists like a child with a favourite blanket. Suddenly laughter burst from her lips as she noticed her jacket lying on the floor. It must have slipped off the back of her chair where she'd flung it earlier. The thud resulting from its weight and her purse which still sat in the pocket from earlier in the day. Now this was getting silly, she was jumping out of her skin at the slightest noise, she was a grown adult and he.... well he seemed like a normal guy. A normal guy who'd not minded her spilling his drink on her, who'd left the club before her with a friend , who liked David Bowie and looked like he had had a hangover just as bad as hers. She reached for her bedside lamp again, her fingers resting lightly on the switch before retreating to the safety and warmth of her duvet. She knew it was childish but leaving the light on made her feel better. She once again closed her eyes and sleep welcomed her with open arms.

It was the sun streaming through her open curtains that finally woke her the next morning. She opened her eyes, grabbed her phone to glance at the clock and upon seeing that it was still only 9 am, turned over and fell straight back asleep. It was the soft buzzing of her phone that woke her the second time. Blearily she looked at the screen which seemed to be on the brightness setting of Jesus descending from heaven. Squinting she saw a text from Amy.

_Hope you're ok and haven't been kidnapped or anything? Maybe we should set up a code word if you do, like pineapple or something xx_

Clara bit her lip anxiously. For some strange reason she didn't really want to tell Amy what had happened yesterday. In fact, thinking back at her reaction, she found it all quite embarrassing to say the least. She hastily typed a reply.

_All fine! Ventured outside and no sight of the mystery man, avoided all dodgy looking white vans offering sweets and puppies too. Pineapple? Too cliched. What about Marcus Aurelius? xx_

A reply soon pinged back on her screen. Amy was obviously wide awake and slightly worried despite her joking, carefree tone.

_Marcus Aurelius.... yeah you're right it's not like you'd ever accidentally type that on your phone. And what do you know, autocorrect gets it too! Glad you're ok, enjoy the rest of the weekend xx_

The rest of Clara's Sunday was spent reading and marking the pile of year nine's essays she'd assigned last week. It was really quite obvious that her class hadn't grasped the minutiae of _Pride and Prejudice_ and it seemed that most of the class had not bothered to read the book in the first place. If she read one more essay referencing either Mr Darcy striding soaking wet out of a fountain or across the moors in an unbuttoned shirt as a basis for their relationship she would scream! With a sigh of relief, Clara started to read one of her brighter kid's essays, marking large red ticks over her work.

Sunday passed quickly and quietly through Clara's life, Monday just as quickly but certainly less quietly. She soon found herself sat slumped in the chair behind her desk after another exhausting day teaching English Literature, breaking up numerous fights, wiping away tears, being on lunch duty and politely fending off her colleague Adrian and his misguided attempts to seduce her. She spent enough time around children to want to enter a relationship with essentially a big, floppy haired kid. Adrian was nice but not at all her type, he was the Mr Bingley in her life when she longed for her Darcy. She snorted at her own cliché, it was definitely time to go home.

Grabbing her satchel and jacket she walked briskly through the corridors of Coal Hill before anyone could detain her further and soon found herself walking the short route back to her flat. Her path took her past the park and a few small, local shops. Her favourite being an independently owned second hand book shop. She would frequently spend hours there to the point that the owner now knew her by name and frequently saved books behind the desk for her. It was therefore quite a shock when she noticed a tall, gangly figure, with crazy silver hair and a moth beaten old jumper, leaning on the open door talking to the owner Mr Hawthorne. It was him. Him again! She watched surreptitiously as their conversation ended and the mystery man turned and left. When he had rounded the corner and was definitely no longer in sight, Clara crossed the road and approached the bookshop.

'Ah, Clara! How lovely to see you! I had just the book saved for you but unfortunately the Doctor just pipped you too it.' Mr Hawthorne greeted Clara as she entered the shop, the bell softly ringing above the door as she crossed the threshold.

'The Doctor?' Clara asked innocently. Had she inadvertently just found out the name of her mystery man without even having to dig for any information?

'Yes, another regular of mine. I'm surprised you've never bumped into each other actually. A lovely man, likes to keep himself to himself but an intellectual like you. He teaches at the university. Physics I believe, or was it English Literature. I'm not quite sure. Anyway, was there anything you needed help with?' Mr Hawthorne replied, smiling broadly at her.

'No thanks Mr Hawthorne, I just came for a browse really, you know me and books,' Clara joked, forcing a smile onto her face whilst frantically processing the information she'd just received. She soon found her feet automatically wandering through the haphazard stacks upstairs to the classics section. She visibly relaxed upon seeing row after row of old paperbacks, their familiar slightly musty scent wafting through the air. Her fingers trailed slowly along the spines of Penguin classics until they came to rest on _'The Island of Doctor Moreau'_ , she stared at her finger touching the title. Doctor? So people just called him the Doctor? It wasn't really helpful in the grand scheme of things. Even the knowledge of him working at a university wasn't much more enlightening, she lived in London for Circe's sake, there were at least five universities in a ten mile radius of her as it was! He could work half way across London with the aid of the tube, and that's even if Mr Hawthorne's information was correct. Physics and English Literature were very different subjects, how could you get confused between them?

Glancing at her watch she realised she'd inadvertently spent half an hour pondering the spine of _'The Island of Doctor Moreau'_. Hitching her satchel comfortably on her shoulder she descended down the stairs, bid farewell to Mr Hawthorne and finally went home. 


	5. Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

_Hey, planning on going out again Friday night. You in? I owe you drinks remember.... xx_

Clara smiled, going out with Amy was always fun, mad but fun. She always inevitably got drunker than she planned, spent way too much money and ended up cursing Amy the next morning for the ridiculously large hangover that was inflicted upon her. How could she refuse?

_Sounds great! Just let me know later on in the week times and stuff :) xx_

She still hadn't told Amy about the whole developments in the stalker/ Doctor thing. In some ways she felt incredibly guilty and couldn't fathom why she hadn't confided in he,r but the need to solve this mystery on her own was overwhelming. Clara had spent the next day after work determined to narrow down her search for him. That was until she googled the faculty list for London universities, specifically teachers with a doctorate in either Physics of English Lit. A seventy page list appeared on her screen. With a resounding no, Clara had closed the lid of her laptop and gone and got a glass of wine.

On Wednesday, work had been particularly trying. Courtney, her most troublesome student had decided that discussing the theme of femininity in _A Handmaid's Tale'_ had not been interesting enough, which admittedly Clara could slightly agree with. Returning the classes attention to the book had become impossible as an increasingly disruptive Courtney gained more laughs and support from the class. The end of the lesson had resulted in the dictionary definition of silence being written on the whiteboard and the whole class silently reading the next chapter of _A Handmaid's Tale_.

Clara sighed. That wasn't how she wanted to teach, she had wanted to share her excitement of literature, to give the kids the access to books they would never have thought of reading, to let them garner a love of J.K. Rowling and Jane Austen side by side. Instead she spent half her time coaxing them to read even one chapter of _Of Mice and Men_ and the other half disciplining them for disruptive behaviour and checking Facebook during her lessons. It seemed not even the greatest works of literature in history could rival the power of Facebook. Harry Potter could only stop it for a half a lesson.

To stop herself from dwelling even longer on her melancholic thoughts, Clara had decided to go to the local vinyl shop. If there was one thing besides stacks of books that never failed to cheer her up, it was a good stack of vinyl. Amy was insistent on labelling her a hipster after seeing the growing number of vinyl in her flat and her constant use of her deck over her iPod or the radio. There had always been something about vinyl though, the little crackles and slightly echoing quality of the music reminded her of visiting her Nan. Of Saturday afternoons filled with jazz, her Nan getting up to flip the vinyl, the excitement of dropping the needle onto the crisp black disc.

Spiller's Records was an old fashioned shop, a pure vinyl shop. Rows upon rows or vinyl to flip through sorted by genre and then artist. Beneath the units were even more crates of unsorted vinyl, with little foot stools you could pull up to get comfortable on whilst you went crate diving. Half the fun was looking, even if you didn't find anything you wanted to buy. Clara on the other hand had been hoping to find a copy of _Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars_ , an original rather than a remaster. It seemed like luck was on her side after the awful day she'd had, as, after deflating slightly at its absence from the David Bowie section, she had found it lodged haphazardly between The Clash and Tracy Chapman, a small post-it stuck on the bag with an indecipherable scribble on it. Triumphantly clutching the vinyl to her chest, Clara went to the till.

The owner of the shop, a slightly balding man in his late forties took the vinyl off her before frowning at the post-it note.

'Sorry Miss but this vinyl isn't for sale. I keep telling him to give me them after he's marked them up but half the time I think he's lost in his own world,' the shop keeper said apologetically as though his explanation made perfect sense to the confused and partly annoyed Clara.

'You don't understand, I've been looking for this vinyl for ages now. Why isn't it for sale?' Clara demanded, trying to keep the rising desperation out of her voice. So much for luck being on her side, it seemed like today at least the universe had it in for her.

'One of my regulars, The Doctor, I let him mark up vinyl he wants with a post-it note then I put it behind the desk for the next time he comes in with money. See, this post it note has his initial on it, D. Doctor.' The shop keeper said, turning the post-it note towards her. Now that he had said it, she could see a D emerging in a scratchy, hastily written manner. ' I'm really sorry, if you give me your details, next time a copy comes in I can let you know, save it for you,' the shop keeper offered, pushing forward a pen and pad.

She couldn't believe it. Surely it couldn't be the same Doctor, could it? There was only one way to find out. Clara took the proffered pen from the man and started to scribble down her contact details.

'I didn't know he came here too, he's an old friend of a friend. Has he finally got that unruly fluff of silver under control, every time I see him he says he's going to get it cut,' Clara asked casually, with a hint of a smile.

'Ha! That's never going to happen. Nope, still got the big hair, still teaching music at the university too. He did get a new jacket though, red velvet this time, like that makes it any better,' the man replied, shaking his head and laughing. 'Well, thanks..... Clara,' he said looking down at her details, 'I'll give you a shout if it comes in again and I'll make sure that the Doctor sticks to the rules next time too, I promise!'

Clara thanked him and walked empty handed out of Spiller's Records in a complete befuddled daze.

The Doctor.

'HA!' she laughed loudly. The more she learnt about this man the more of a mystery he became. So at least he still definitely taught at a university, but what did he teach though, Physics, English Literature or Music? At least his love for David Bowie seemed a confirmed, genuine fact.

Coincidences were becoming a big part of her life, this was the second time she'd inadvertently discovered information on the Doctor. Maybe to truly uncover the mystery she needed to actively, but discreetly do some investigating. She took her phone out of her satchel and brought up the photos featuring who she now knew was the Doctor. So there was still the very large possibility he had been stalking her, alternatively if by some miracle this was all just a coincidence, and they just happened to be in the same place at the same time, then he seemed to have a pen chance for art. For this to work though, she'd need back up, someone who'd know precisely where she was and when in case anything went wrong. Although her irrational fear of this man had receded with the knowledge of his name and his seeming love for books and music, she was still wary and very aware of the photographic evidence that cast him in another light. It was time to let Amy know everything that had happened, preferably before they went out on Friday.


	6. Poets and Sin

Unfortunately things for Clara Oswald didn't go exactly as planned. Immediately after her revelation outside of _Spiller's_ she called Amy. Well, tried to call Amy. Instead the intermittent beeping of the dial up tone was followed by Amy's voicemail dully telling her that she was couldn't get to the phone right now. Grunting with annoyance, Clara had tried again several times in the evening to no avail.

Thursday brought no better luck. When Amy finally answered the phone during a break at work, her breathless voice and the unmistakeable sound of the underground cut their conversation abruptly short. Clara had no further chance until the school day had ended and then, once again, Amy had apparently disappeared in the nethersphere never to be contacted again.

It was now Friday.

_8pm tonight, The Poet's Corner for pre's xx_

Clara bit her lip, drumming her fingers impatiently on the surface of her desk. She glared at the simple white clock, the seconds hand slowly ticking away, before glancing back at the text message on her screen. 3:15pm. Five more minutes would herald the end of the school, the end of the week and force Clara into what would probably become a highly drunken conversation about her plans. The fingers of her right hand continued to drum on the wooden surface. She'd have to tell her before they started drinking. At least being in a public place meant that Amy couldn't make too much of a scene.....

The high pitched shrieking of the school bell pulled Clara from her reverie. Immediately the air was filled with the unmistakeable sound of scraping chairs as the kids hastily grabbed their bags and rushed for the door.

'Make sure you remember to have a look at the tips I posted on Moodle!' She shouted above the rising voices of excited teenagers. 'Those who do will find the test on Monday much easier!' She shook her head with a smile, she'd given them the answers if they bothered to look. Pulling the year seven's book from the tray on her desk and sliding them into a re-usable shopping bag, she retrieved her jacket from the back of her chair and hitched her satchel onto her shoulder. She soon found her feet had automatically taken her out of the school through the car park at the back, however she'd forgone her motorbike again today in favour of walking. She had tried to convince herself that it was because she'd started being healthier, making small changes to get fitter. A small voice in the back of head however piped up that it was easier to look out for the Doctor when she was walking.

When Clara finally reached home, she dumped her marking and satchel unceremoniously in the hallway and popped her keys in the little bowl on the table. Toeing off her shoes she padded into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She quickly filled the kettle and flicked the switch, hearing the telltale sign of the water starting to boil. Clara hummed quietly to herself as she finished making her cup of tea, her ring clinking on the mug as she took small sips leant against the kitchen counter.

'First things first, what am I going to wear tonight?' she said aloud, mentally flicking through her wardrobe. She'd gone past the age of freezing in the British weather just to look good and part of her, well the largest part of her brain at the moment, really couldn't be arsed shaving her legs to wear a short dress. She knew she'd be surrounded by younger woman tottering around in heels covered in glitter by the time they reached whatever club they were going to, but tonight the pain and the effort weren't worth it. Finishing her cup of tea, Clara opened the fridge and eyed its contents. Fuck it. She couldn't be bothered making food tonight and the prospect of getting stupidly drunk to take her mind off how weird the week had been was highly appealing right now.

A few hours later saw Clara sat at her vanity table, three versions of a smoothly contoured face stared back at her through smoky black eyes, her red lips raised in a sexy smirk. She replaced the lid on her lipstick with a plop and transferred to the bed to put on her shoes. Walking to the full length mirror she surveyed her look for the night. She finished buttoning her red sleeveless wrap top up. It had been a rather expensive Dior birthday gift from her Nan but why have it if you couldn't wear it out? Extremely tight black faux leather trousers ended at the ankle to contrast nicely with the bold red, her toes flexed in open ended black wedge heels. She smiled happily at herself, still got it!

The Poet's Corner was a classic pre drinks spot, a cheap and cheerful chain pub directly opposite some of the most popular clubs in town. Therefore it was no surprise that when Clara arrived at precisely 8pm all her friends were already there, tipsy and probably only a few drinks away from tipping into the zone of drunk.

'CLARA!' Amy shouted, excitedly waving her over to a large table filled with pitchers and empty alcohol bottles. 'Right, first things first, what do you want to drink?'

'Actually Amy, can I have a word with about something first?' Clara replied, grabbing Amy's arm as she unsteadily reached across the table for her glass.

'Sure,' she replied, smiling brightly at Clara her eyes slightly glazed with alcohol. Clara sighed, another plan straight out of the window, she was definitely not speaking to a sober Amy right now. She proceeded to explain to Amy everything that had happened regarding this Doctor guy, editing around her reaction to the first time she saw him in the park but mostly sticking to the facts. As she continued, the frown on Amy's face began to deepen.

'So, I'm thinking of going to the museum or the local art gallery this weekend to see if the universe wants to help me out some more with this whole situation,' she ended, looking hopefully at Amy.

'Are you kidding me!?' Amy hissed in an angry whisper. 'Like, are you actually mental!? No, nuh-huh, nada, nein, nag ydw. No way am I letting you do this, it's crazy and do you slightly see how the tables have turned?'

'What do you mean?' Clara replied heatedly.

'You're technically stalking him now Clara, he's probably looking at his photos thinking, whose this tiny, admittedly smoking hot brunette in the background of all my photos?' Amy explained, putting on a fake manly voice whilst placing her hand on Clara's bare arm in a placating manner.

'I suppose you're right, it's just...... oh I don't know Amy! I just wanted to solve the mystery..... You're right it was a stupid idea. I'll drop it and live with the mystery that the Doctor, Physics/English Lit/Music professor extraordinaire who just so happens to be in the background of a lot of my photos.'

'Good! Right, back to my first and most important question of the evening, one which I think will define how this night goes. What do you want to drink?'

'Vodka and orange, double of course,' Clara hastily added, laughing as she watched Amy saunter off to the bar. New plan, Clara strategized, get horrendously drunk, so drunk that you'll wipe the memory of the Doctor from your mind forever.

An hour later, a giggling and much drunker Clara exited the Poet's Corner, her arm clutching Amy's waist as she wildly pointed vaguely in the direction of a familiar club. The others had already gone ahead and said they'd be waiting for them inside.

'Shhhh, you've got to act sober so we can get in,' Clara stifled out through her giggles, pulling Amy to a halt across the road. She took her arm away from her waist and watched her straighten up and pull her shoulders back. With another stifled giggle she continued to watch as Amy approached the bouncer and produced her ID. He nodded silently and waved her in.

'Thank you good sir!' Amy replied loudly, bowing extravagantly before heading inside. Clara raised her hand to her forehead in despair before producing her own ID and being waved similarly into the club.

The noise and heat slammed into her in a wave as she felt her hand being stamped and shoved through the door. The club was packed and the infamous black ceiling was already dripping with what she could only hope was sweat and nothing worse. Sober Clara would have found this disgusting, but drunk Clara knew that Sin City wasn't Sin City without the dripping ceiling. She weaved her way through the crowd to the bar, keeping an eye out for a ridiculously tall ginger. Scanning the club she could see no sign of Amy, shrugging she reasoned that she must have gone to the toilet or the smoking terrace. Determined to keep at the level of drunk she was, she slid to the front of the bar, leaning over to shout in the cute bar tender's ear before getting a thumbs up and a wink from her. Clara smirked with a slight blush.

Now with two drinks in her hands, the number one rule of Sin City, she sipped through the little black straw before heading onto the dance floor. Dancing as she moved she continued to survey the room for Amy. She finally spotted her on the little stage at the front, her arms raised above her head, her hips swaying sensuously to the music. Clara attempted to make her way over to her, drunkenly stumbling through the crowd and apologising profusely when she frequently knocked into someone. She had nearly made it to Amy when a man's arm flung wildly out in front of her, narrowly missing her face but smacking straight into the drink in her left hand. With a start she pulled her body backwards to avoid the wash of alcohol dripping down her arm and onto the floor. In doing so she managed to collide awkwardly with the body behind her, her feet sliding out from underneath her. With the inevitability of in coming contact with the sticky club floor, she shut her eyes and braced herself. Strangely, the club floor wasn't as low down as she thought and felt like warm arms wrapped around her waist. Opening her eyes, she turned to thank her saviour.

'Are you alright?' he asked worriedly. Placing her back on her feet before running a hand nervously through an unruly mass of silver curls.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone that's commented or left kudos on my work. It means a lot to me that everyone is enjoying my first whouffaldi fic so much!
> 
> Sorry for the late update but I had to work yesterday filming in a primary school.... I'll return to usual updates every Saturday next week.


	7. The Mystery of the Impossible Girl

'Are you sure you're alright, did you bang your head?' he'd leant down to be closer to her ear, asking again in a soft Scottish brogue which finally penetrated Clara's brain.

'Yeah, yeah I'm fine thanks Doctor, I'm just gonna go and-' Clara hurriedly replied, pulling away and trying to discreetly search for Amy out of the corner of her eye.

'Did you just call me Doctor? How did you know that?' she heard him half shout over the music, turning back around to find his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, his head tilted to the left.

'I errrr, I heard someone call you that when you saved me from falling,' she answered lamely, internally cursing at her stupidity. Drunk Clara was a liability right now. She couldn't stop watching those long fingers of his combing through his hair. She wondered how soft his curls would feel running through her fingers. And that voice of his had been so close to her ear. The Scottish lilt had definitely had an effect on her ability to function, never mind the alcohol swirling inside her body. His T-shirt was clinging resolutely to his chest and abdomen from a fine sheen of sweat and if her eyes weren't deceiving her, he was surprisingly toned for his age. Shaking her head to try to push out the increasingly inappropriate thoughts, she nearly missed his reply over the pounding of the music.

'I don't know anyone here,' he stated, watching her stand wide eyed before him. 'Well, anyone around us right now, on this floor. I've lost my friend.' He clarified, gesturing with his long fingered hands at the crowd around them. He must have thought she hadn't understood what he'd originally said.

'I-,'

'CLARA! There you are!! Come to the toilet with me will you?' a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her unceremoniously through the crowd. She looked back to see the Doctor, his eyes staring at her, his arm outstretched as if he'd tried to stop her leaving. She mouthed sorry back at him, hoping he'd be able to understand. She just managed to catch the small tilt of his lips upwards in a shy smile before he disappeared into the crowd. Why had she apologised? Why had she been like a blushing school girl in front of him too? She should have been confronting him about the photos, getting the answers she craved whilst there wasn't an Amy to stop her. Amy...... It seemed that Amy hadn't taken one notice of who she'd been talking to, thank God! She was just intent on making it up the stairs to the toilets.

'Where have you been?' Amy slurred, propping herself up against the sink as she drunkenly tried to wash her hands. Clara dodged the women grouped around the one small mirror, trying to fix their makeup, a definite lost cause in her opinion. 'Ooooooo, did you meet someone?'

'I just bumped into someone I knew on my way to find you on the stage, that's all' Clara lied, avoiding Amy's gaze under the pretence of checking her reflection in the mirror. She saw Amy nod, grin mischievously and take her hand, dragging her out of the toilets, down the stairs and towards the bar.

In a strange repetition of earlier on in the night, Clara found herself searching the crowd, looking for a tall figure and those unmistakeable silvery curls. But, no matter how hard she looked, she couldn't see him anywhere. He'd definitely disappeared from his spot earlier, maybe he'd gone to try and find the friend he was talking about.

'Hey!' It was the cute bar tender from earlier, she was waving Clara over to the end of the bar. Slipping her hand from Amy's and making sure she was getting served, Clara slid through the crowd towards the bar tender. 'Are you Clara?' She nodded warily. 'Then this is for you, a tall older guy gave it to me, said to give it to a small, cute brunette with a face that showed two emotions at once, like and I quote, 'you're malfunctioning'. Said her name was Clara. He also said to say sorry he had to go'

'Thanks?' Clara said, warily taking a folded up piece of paper from the bar tender's outstretched hand. She opened it slowly to find the same scratchy handwriting she'd first seen on the post-it-notes in Spiller's Records.

_Clara,_

_I'd like to solve the mystery of the Impossible girl._   
_Please get in touch._

_Doctor_

She stared at the bottom of the note. There in the same scribbled handwriting was his mobile number.

'Can I get a shot of tequila please with some salt and lime, actually make that two?' she asked the bar tender. Paying and taking the proffered drink, she sprinkled a line of salt on her hand, licked it swiftly, downed the first tequila shot and shoved the wedge of lime into her mouth, sucking furiously on the acidic juices. Eyeing up the second shot, she pulled out her phone and entered the Doctor's number, tapping the save button before she could change her mind. She took one last glance at her phone and the note and then shoved both inside her purse.

'WOOOOO! Go Clara!' Amy shouted, watching as she downed the second shot of tequila straight. Clara smiled, her eyes watering from the spirit. 'Time to ramp it up a gear I think!' said Amy, handing Clara a jager bomb and what looked like a shot of vodka.

'Cheers!'

'Cheers!'

She'd think rationally about whether to contact him in the morning. Right now her head was spinning and she couldn't get the image of his blue eyes softening as he shyly smiled at her through the crowd out of her head. At the rate at which Amy was procuring shots though, she didn't think she'd be able to remember much more of this night anyway. 


	8. Roasted berry seeds

Clara was awake and alive, well that's what her steadily beating heart suggested. Although, her spinning, pounding head, the urge to vomit and the astounding effort it took to move any of her limbs begged to differ. This was surely what dying felt like.

She'd lost track of the number of shots she'd plied her body with last night. Stupidly she'd tried to match Amy drink for drink despite the fact that Amy had always managed to hold her alcohol better than Clara. No matter how drunk Amy got she still managed to retain control over what her mouth was doing. Clara on the other hand felt that as soon as she took one sip of alcohol her brain waved goodbye and severed its connection with her mouth completely. She always said or did the stupidest of things. She was always so impulsive, making snap decisions that inevitably back fired in her face. Stupid, impulsive decisions......

Clara scrambled for her purse in a panic and pulled out her phone and the scrap of paper. She bit her bottom lip, worrying away at the flesh anxiously. Should she contact him?

As she stared at his handwriting and his seemingly new moniker for her, the 'Impossible girl', she realised that deep down in her heart she didn't think he was a stalker. Every time she'd encountered him this week had been an accident. Firstly the park, when he hadn't even been looking as he'd walked past her deep in thought, then the book shop where he hadn't even noticed her again and had just innocently been shopping, and finally the club. The whole incident last night kept replaying over and over again in her mind, how worried and kind his eyes had seemed, how bumbling he'd been in the short conversation they'd had. She realised now, with her sober mind, how sweaty and uncomfortable he'd looked. In fact, he'd looked completely out of his depth stood amongst the drunken, dancing crowd.

_Hi Doctor,_   
_Thank you for saving me from a sticky, club floor death last night. I owe you one!_

_The Impossible girl_

Before she could change her mind, Clara tapped the send button. Amy was going to kill her if she found out what she'd just done. Suddenly she laughed unexpectedly at her last memory of Amy climbing ungracefully out of the taxi, clutching a tray of cheesy chips she'd hidden from the driver. Clara opened her messages to Amy to see a garbled exchange between both of them last night, obviously trying to reassure each other that they had both gotten home safely. She tapped out a new text message to Amy.

_How are you feeling? xx_

_I feel like the grim reaper is standing over my body, waiting for my inevitable alcohol induced death..... How are you? xx_

_Same. I keep tasting tequila in the back of my throat.... Why did I think that was a good idea again? xx_

All Clara got in a reply was a series of crying laughter face emojis.

A few minutes later, after she'd briefly rested her eyes and swallowed through the rising taste of tequila, Clara heard the distinctive ping of another message. She tapped automatically on the notification, ready to reply to whatever Amy had texted her.

_Hello Impossible girl,_   
_Well, I really didn't fancy watching an admittedly tiny human being get trampled on a Saturday night._   
_You're welcome._   
_Doctor_

She laughed despite herself. How did he manage to insult her without actually offending her? Pausing to think, she stared at his choice of name. Doctor? Doctor Who?

_Did you find your friend in the end? :)_

_Yes, he's very hungover. He was the reason I had to leave but I'm glad you got my message._   
_I meant what I said. How does coffee sound?_

She stared at the text, her thumb circling anxiously over the keyboard on her phone. Just as she finally started to type a reply, a message slid onto the screen and into their conversation.

_Coffee with me that is. Coffee in general is great too though._   
_Did you know that coffee beans are actually seeds from berries of the Coffea plant and the word coffee entered the English language in 1582 from the Dutch word koffie._

She shook her head with a smile. How was it possible to sound so intellectual but simultaneously completely clueless in one text? It was endearing in a way. She suddenly realised that although she had hardly spent any time around the man, she couldn't quite shake the notion that last night there'd been something about him, something between them.....

_Some roasted berry seeds with you would be great._   
_Coffee no 1, Wellfield rd, 11am tomorrow?_

Clara sat nervously staring at her screen. Why did she feel so nervous? This wasn't a date, this was.... Well she didn't know what it was but it definitely wasn't a date. She wiped her increasingly sweaty palms on her duvet, trying to convince herself it was the alcohol sweating out of her pores not the fact she was still waiting for a reply. She now seemed to have been waiting an age, maybe he had changed his mind and didn't want to meet with her after all. Maybe she'd been too forward and should have waited for him to suggest a time and place. Despite how nervous he made her, she still wanted to retain some form of control in this exchange.

_Sounds great! I'll see you tomorrow then, 11am._

Clara tried to hide the smile on her treacherous lips. Well, there was no backing out now. Apart from the fact she could just not turn up and block his number in her phone? No! She was going, and she was going to sort this out once and for all and, if along the way there was the added bonus of seeing that little shy smile on his face again, well that was just a bonus.

As she dragged herself out of bed to make a well needed cup of tea, Clara couldn't help contemplating that the Doctor had made her genuinely smile more in the past hour than anyone had in a very long time. His only rival was Amy, and that was really saying something.

 


	9. Because of the rhymes

The Doctor was stood awkwardly outside the coffee shop, biting on the pad of his thumb. He was wearing what she presumed was the new red velvet jacket the record store owner had talked about, a moth hole ridden jumper sat underneath, the edges of the sleeve frayed with age. She recognised his now customary black trouser and black boot combination. His eyes darted left and right, watching the cars and pedestrians pass by. She saw his eyes widen suddenly with recognition as he caught sight of her, his hand raised in welcome. She smiled and gave a small wave back.

'Thanks for coming,' he greeted her shyly, shuffling his boots on the pavement before going back to biting his thumb.

'No problem Doctor,' she replied cheekily, watching him frown at the use of his name. With a smirk, Clara wordlessly led the way inside the shop, hoping that the Doctor was following close behind. Confidence was the key she reminded herself, heading straight for two empty, old battered armchairs in the middle of the shop. Just close enough to the door without being too obvious, just in case something happened....

'What can I get you?' the Doctor asked from behind her. She'd forgotten how strong his Scottish accent was and couldn't quite suppress a slight shiver from running down her spine.

'Just a cup of tea please.'

'Right, ok, I'll be back in a bit.'

She hung her leather jacket on the back of the armchair and then watched him stride over to the counter and begin to fumble in the pockets of his coat for some money. With a triumphant grin he pulled out a mishmash of change, sorting swiftly through the pile before handing over the correct amount to the barista. Clara could have sworn she'd seen Euros, a couple of Canadian toonies, an American dollar and what looked suspiciously like an Indian rupee before he shoved it all unceremoniously back into his pocket. He returned shortly carrying a pot of tea for her, and what looked like a strong black coffee, on a tray. The Doctor placed the tray on the table and sank heavily into the empty armchair across from Clara.

Silently, he picked up his coffee cup and dropped a handful of sugar cubes onto the wooden table between them. She watched in disgust and fascination as he proceeded to drop seven cubes into his coffee before stirring the liquid with a small metal teaspoon. He finished his ritual with a series of loud clangs as he tapped the head of the spoon on the rim of the cup.

'That's a hell of a lot of sugar,' she finally said, interrupting the silence that had fallen between them.

'Is it?' he looked at her quizzically without the slightest trace of sarcasm in his voice. He took a sip of his coffee and hummed with pleasure. Clara laughed quietly, pouring herself a cup of tea and taking a few reassuring sips from her cup.

'So,' The Doctor suddenly said, 'how do you know my name Impossible girl?' He raised one magnificent eyebrow questioningly, placing his cup of coffee back down onto the table with expectation.

Clara put her cup down too and began to rummage through the pocket of her jacket. She slowly pulled out her phone and tapped and flicked her way to the photo album of him. The Doctor sat staring at her, his coffee now completely forgotten. She took a deep breath and slowly slid her phone towards him.

'It all started with these,' Clara confessed. His eyes darted uncertainly between her face and the phone screen. He gingerly reached out one long finger and, with a slight nod of Clara's head as permission, scrolled through the photo album. The Doctor's eyebrows migrated slowly closer and closer together as he continued to scroll, until his face took on a permanent scowl as he finally reached her Venice photos.

'I don't understand,' he finally said gruffly, running his hand through his hair.

'Nor do I really,' Clara replied. 'Before that night at the club, did you know who I was? Please tell me truthfully.'

The Doctor shook his head resolutely, his eyebrows still drawn together in a frown. His eyes however seemed to spark with excitement at the mystery, the wrinkles around them betraying the smile behind his gruff mask. And, for some strange reason Clara believed him. She couldn't explain it, couldn't even begin to fathom why her usually sound mind was accepting his word after talking for an accumulation of maybe twenty minutes. There was definitely something about this man that she couldn't quite put her finger on but her stalker theory had not resolutely flown out of the nearest window. She edged further forward in her armchair and started to tell her tale, how she'd initially discovered the album after a drunken night, to seeing him at the bookshop and finally Friday night at _Sin City_. He listened carefully throughout, nodding occasionally, his blue eyes sparking with excitement.

'It seems like the universe is trying to tell us something don't you think?' he finally said after Clara had finished her story. 'I booked that holiday to Venice on a whim. Got home one night from work and just found myself buying plane tickets to the first destination I could think of. Odd......' A grin spread quickly across his face, his eyes scrunching up with pure pleasure. She could get used to seeing that grin, to seeing his face, to seeing him in fact.

'It seems it is and I don't think I'm complaining right now,' she smiled back, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. 'So what do you actually teach? Music, English Lit or Physics?'

'All three,' he stated happily.

'All three!? All three at university level?' she exclaimed, trying to figure out if he was playing with her.

'Yeah, they're all poetry really, all the same thing.'

'How is physics the same as poetry?' Clara asked, trying to supress her laughter at the affronted look on his face. He stared momentarily at her as though he couldn't quite believe she didn't understand the link.

'Because of the rhymes.'   
  
Half an hour later found Clara and the Doctor in deep conversation. They'd already covered their respective jobs, his love of travelling and her hopes to also see the world. They'd talked about music and food, films and TV programs. But, most importantly they'd successfully examined and explained each photo, discovering that they only lived a few streets away from each other and for years had managed to frequent exactly the same spots without actually meeting.

'So you're saying that for years we've managed to avoid each other and just like magic we meet this week. That's some coincidence,' Clara questioned.

'Time's a funny thing...... Look Clara, I can't explain it and I understand that stalking is a viable explanation for this madness, but I promise with all my heart that I had no idea who you were and I'm no threat to you at all'

Her second cup of tea was steaming in front of her. His third coffee was now clutched in one hand whilst the other animatedly accompanied his explanation of the works of Leonardo da Vinci. She couldn't take her eyes off of him, Clara couldn't remember being this enraptured by a topic or a man like this in a long time. She would love to see him lecture but to be honest she'd happily sit and watch him read aloud from the Oxford English dictionary.

'So what gets my Impossible girl excited then?' he asked ten minutes later, finally relaxing fully in his chair, his long leg crossed over the other. Clara felt her heart skip slightly, hoping she hadn't let it show on her face how affected she'd become by a simple two letter endearment.

'Jane Austen' she replied instantly, launching herself into a well practiced and argued speech on the virtues of Austen and her invaluable contribution to literature. Her tirade inevitably led her into a deep and gushing explanation of her love for _Pride and Prejudice._ She could feel her cheeks glowing red under the stare of his intense blue eyes, the words continuing to flow from her mouth. Finally she slowed to a halt, looking embarrassingly down at the curls of steam rising from her mug.

'Ah, you're one of those,' he simply stated. Her head shot up.

'One of what?'

'Simpering romantics who couldn't possibly conceive there was a better depiction or example of a man in the world than Mr Darcy. And, what's worse it seems you're spreading the disease to your students! The number of papers I have to read every year from mine about the journey of love and love overcoming class. Jane Eyre on the other hand-' he stated nonchalantly, oblivious to the anger swirling inside the woman sat opposite him, until her stark interruption.

'How dare you!? How dare you insult my opinions and my teaching practices when I engaged and supported yours. You dare to judge me from such a short period of time! I can't stand here and listen to you insult me....,' Clara rose abruptly to her feet, angrily pulling her jacket from the back of the chair. 'Or for that matter Jane Austen!' She pushed roughly past the Doctor's legs and stormed through the coffee shop to the exit.

The Doctor sat numbly in his chair staring at the black dregs of coffee clinging to the depths of his cup. Oh God, what had he done?


	10. Rain and the Willow

'Wait, Clara, please!' the Doctor shouted, grabbing his velvet jacket from the back of the armchair, knocking over his empty coffee cup in his haste to catch up with her.

It had all seemed to happen in slow motion for Clara, she'd be wary to describe it as an outer body experience but as she heard the words leave her mouth and felt her arm hastily yanking on her jacket, she had no other explanation for it. The walk to the door seemed to take an age as she heard the Doctor shout after her, the words floating through her ears without her brain comprehending their meaning. Her fists were balled up in anger and she vaguely felt a sharp stabbing sensation as her nails dug angrily into her palms. Finally, she reached the doorway, striding purposefully out into the street beyond.

The first cold droplets of rain hit her and she gasped with shock. She laughed bitterly at the utter ridiculousness of the situation, pathetic fallacy indeed. Within minutes she was soaked through, her hair plastered to her face in wet strands, rain drops poring profusely from the tip of her nose, and yet she couldn't bear to turn back. Her father had always told her her temper and her stubborn streak would get her into trouble, but right now Clara had no intention of returning to that odious man for the sake of keeping dry. Clara grimaced as she blindly walked straight through a deep puddle, the cold water seeping through her left boot. She'd made it half way through the park before the weather truly unleashed its worst. With a rumble of the heavens, sheets of rain swiftly fell from the dull grey sky, pummelling the ground relentlessly. The droplets stung as they hit her skin, cold tiny pin pricks on her angry flushed cheeks. Her hands strangely numb to the onslaught, her fingertips a throbbing red against the ghostly white outline of her fingers. With a splash of mud and water, she ran to the safety of an old willow, parting the swaying fronds to the haven inside. Clara watched the rain numbly, rubbing her hands furiously together.

Suddenly, she felt a cold, wet hand grasp her arm. She spun around in shock.

'Clara...' he whispered breathlessly, still grasping her arm as though afraid she might bolt. She would have laughed at how absurd he looked, his normally bouncing silver curls were dark, almost black in the rain. They drooped absurdly down onto his forehead, rivulets of raindrops steadily flowing from each strand. His eyebrows were wild, seeming to glower heavily under the added weight of tiny beads of rain. The end of his nose was now a newly discovered waterfall, the drops catching on his upper lip as he continued to pant loudly in his effort to catch her up. The only thing that stopped her laughing were his eyes. His normally bright eyes had become a maelstrom of the deepest blue fixed intently on her face. She couldn't bear to blink or look away. Clara had always thought the idea of drowning in someone's eyes was laughable but now it was all she could do to anchor herself to the soft, rain sodden earth beneath her feet.

'I'm sorry,' he pleaded, carefully running his hand down the arm of her jacket until his long fingers gently gripped her small hand in a handshake. 'Hi, I'm the Doctor... actually no,' he exclaimed angrily, dropping her hand. Clara mourned the loss of the added warmth, her fingers flexed gently, brushing the wet leather of her jacket. 'Why can't I get this right?' she heard him mutter almost inaudibly to himself. He was running his hands in frustration through his soaked hair, his fingers leaving behind distinct tunnels creating the impression of a classic mad professor. Clara's lips twitched with a smile despite herself. He took a deep breath and continued.

'Hi, I'm John Smith and right now I feel like an idiot, a complete and utter twat. I don't know if you can tell but I don't have many friends Clara and I honestly can't remember the last time I had a proper conversation with a woman. Especially a woman so, so....... beguiling as you. I'm so sorry for insulting you and for being so disparaging about a topic you obviously love. Can we start again, please?' he finished hopefully. She looked at him standing in the rain, soaked to the bone, he'd probably ruined his new velvet jacket, and all for her.

'Hi John, I'm Clara Oswald and I don't know if you've noticed but sometimes my mouth runs away with me, I think it's got a life of its own. Would you like to go finish that cup of coffee I so rudely interrupted?' she replied, offering him her outstretched hand, palm upwards. She waited with bated breath, listening to the pounding of the rain transform into a softer pitter patter.

'I'd love to,' he said, that little shy smile gracing his lips. 'But, I still don't like Pride and Prejudice, just to be clear. Jane Austen is still open for debate though.'

His fingers slid carefully around her hand as she led him back through the trailing leaves of the willow. The rain seemed to abate as they slowly wandered back towards the coffee shop. She glanced sideways at him briefly as they reached the park gates, he didn't seem to notice. Instead, his eyes were captivated by the sight of her small, pale hand in his.


	11. Not a euphemism for anything

The rest of that day had been spent with slow, tentative steps, re-establishing the easy flow of conversation before Clara's abrupt departure.

'So, just to be clear you hate: mime artists, karaoke, pears, Pride and Prejudice, people calling you English and a disrespect for all living creatures,' she relayed back to the Doctor, ticking off each point on her fingers.

'If you were to distil my personality down into an inane, black and white list then yes, that's correct,' he deadpanned. 'And just to be clear, you don't like: unfulfilled potential, people who don't try to speak the language in foreign countries, mushrooms and people who hate Pride and Prejudice (apart from me of course),' The Doctor smirked teasingly at Clara.

'Correction, people who hate Pride and Prejudice without a valid reason.'

'And how do you know I have a valid reason?' he asked, one eyebrow raised.

'I don't but I'm sure you'll enlighten me,' Clara cheekily replied, finding herself inadvertently flirting with the Doctor.

'I'm sure I will..... but shit! I'm afraid it won't be today....' the Doctor muttered, bouncing suddenly to his feet. 'I'm so sorry Clara I didn't realise how long we'd been talking I'm supposed to be giving a lecture in half an hour for a Sunday guest series.'

'It's ok, I should probably be getting back to my flat anyway, lots of marking to do,' she reassured him, hoping to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

'I'll text you,' he said. 'Wait, can I text you? Is that alright?'

She laughed, standing up to be level with him. 'Yes of course it's alright you daft man, we can arrange when to meet next and I'll pay this time.'

'Right, errrrr, thank you for- you know,' he replied, gesturing awkwardly at the empty cups and her. She stepped around the small table and into his personal space. His eyes widened suddenly, his arms raised in front of him in a defensive manner. 'I'm not really the hugging type,' the Doctor explained apologetically.

'I don't think you get a choice,' she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her height. She could feel his startled breath next to her ear as she played with the soft velvet on the back of his collar. His arms were splayed awkwardly at his sides but she could feel the tension leaving him slowly and minutely until he placed one large hand on her back and patted it jerkily. After a few more minutes Clara pulled back slowly, her hands dragging down his chest to rest on the lapels of his jacket. 'See, not all bad,' she smirked knowingly at the slight blush to his pale cheeks. The Doctor shook his head mutely and with one quick glance at her smirking face, he turned to leave.

'Goodbye Doctor,' Clara called after his retreating form.

'Goodbye Impossible Girl,' he softly replied under his breath.

 

* * *

 

'Curry or Chinese?'

'What?' Clara asked, pulling herself out of her daydream, trying to ignore the memories of soft velvet and an even softer Scottish lilt. She blushed, fingering the stem of the wine glass in her hand. It was a few days later and she'd had one hastily typed text from the Doctor apologising that he was busy for the remainder of the week.

'I said curry or Chinese. Are you alright?' Amy asked again, bending down to peer into Clara's face. 'You look very flushed? I'm ruling out early on set menopause so you must be remembering something fun.....'

Clara felt her blush deepening, carefully avoiding Amy's gaze, taking a large gulp of red wine.

'Oh my God! Have you had sex? You have haven't you!'

'No!' Clara protested, finally looking up at Amy. 'No,' she repeated, giggling at Amy as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

'A kiss then?' Amy continued, determined to get the answer out of her increasingly giggly friend. She plonked herself down on the sofa next to Clara, pulling her feet under her before pouring herself an excessively large glass of wine. Clara took another large gulp of her wine, trying to stall for time. Looking up she saw Amy cheekily staring at her over the rim of her glass.

'A hug.....' Clara finally admitted.

'A hug? Oh you mean a hug!'

'No!' Clara exclaimed. 'A hug, a genuine, not a euphemism for anything hug.'

'Wow, it must have been some hug to have you blushing like that. Reminds me of the time you accidentally walked in on me-'

'Stop that right there Amy Pond! I thought we'd agreed to never speak of that particular incident ever again.' Clara interrupted suddenly, pushing Amy's leg affectionately with her foot. 'And yes it was a nice hug.' Amy raised her eyebrow at Clara. 'Fine, it was better than nice, it was.....' She finished lamely, unable to conjure the words to make Amy understand how safe she'd felt, how special.

'So who was this 'better than nice' hug from then? Anyone I know?'

Clara remained resolutely silent, shifting awkwardly on the sofa.

'Clara?....' Amy asked, exasperation laden in her voice. 'Remember I know your type so it won't be embarrassing if he's way older than you and looks suspiciously like Marcus Aurelius.'

'Don't be mad at me,' Clara whispered.

'I already told you-' Amy began, squeezing Clara's foot in comfort.

'It's the Doctor.'

'The Doctor? Hang on, you don't mean the guy you thought was a stalker, who I told you specifically not to go looking for because I was worried for your safety. That guy?' Amy hissed, placing her wine glass down onto the table. Clara nodded slowly, staring at the one hair that had escaped Amy's parting to avoid looking her in the eye. The silence was becoming painfully awkward. This was ridiculous, Amy was her best friend not her mother. Finally, Clara lowered her gaze to find a frowning Amy staring at her. Amy's lips started to twitch before the unmistakeable sound of laughter burst forth.

'I'm sorry Clara, you looked like I was going to give you detention or send you to your room with no supper!' Amy explained, struggling through her mirth. 'Come on then, I expect an epic word for word retelling of your story.'

So that was how Clara found herself gushing her heart out to Amy Pond, on her sofa, on a Friday night.

'I don't know what it is about him Amy, he's infuriating, a complete idiot but I can't stop thinking about him. I was so surprised at how upset I was at not being able to see him this week, like I've only properly met him once but.....'

'Wow. Are you sure you haven't stepped into a modern remake of Pride and Prejudice?' Amy said, grinning excitedly in between sips of her third glass of wine. Clara frowned at her, raising her hand, palm upwards as if to say 'what the hell are you on about?' 'Well it all seems very Jane Austen to me, mysterious older man meets young intelligent woman, they argue, he goes running after her in the rain, they shelter and profess their undying love for each other....'

'One slight problem with your theory, we didn't express undying love. He just expressed that he was a twat, which, and I could be wrong, I don't think is a sentiment really discussed in Jane Austen's work,' Clara delivered in her best teacher voice. Amy snorted loudly, nearly ingesting half her wine up her nose.

'Fine, but it seems to me that if he's making you this happy just from a hug, then as long as you promise that you'll be careful and stay safe, I can endorse this thing between you.'

 


	12. Boundless as the sea

On a sunny Saturday morning Clara found herself nervously waiting on the white stone steps of the museum. She checked her watch for what was probably the twelfth time in the last minute, staring accusingly at the minute hand that was creeping around the clock face.

'It's a scientific fact that staring at a clock face literally makes time slow down.'

Clara's head jerked up suddenly, taking in the figure stood in front of her. He was dressed in a black T-shirt underneath his red velvet jacket, a pair of black Raybans poked out of the inside pocket. His hands were crammed inside the front pockets of his black jeans, his black boots perched precariously on the edge of the step as he leant nonchalantly backwards. She smiled widely, finding an answering grin materialise on his face.

'You're early,' she said, standing up on her chosen step, finding herself eye to eye with him.

'I am but so are you. Plus, I remembered that you said you're always at least ten minutes early to everything. In 'Clara time' ten o'clock means ten to ten,' the Doctor replied, watching the smile on Clara's face widen exponentially. He ran his hand through his curls.

'I can't believe you remember me telling you that. Gold star to the Doctor!' Clara praised, feeling a small bubble of warmth settle in her chest from his attentive gesture. She took his hands in hers abruptly, entwining her small fingers with his long artists fingers. She felt his hand suddenly stiffen around hers. He was obviously uncomfortable with the situation. Clara mentally kicked herself, she was generally quite a tactile person herself and since he had taken her hand last time she had thought that this would be safe territory. She started to pull her fingers from his to find them inexplicably tighten, followed by a soft reassuring squeeze of his. Clara glanced nervously up at him to find his blue eyes softening at the sight of their fingers intertwined. She squeezed his fingers back, smiling happily to herself. In silence the pair began to ascend the museum steps, the Doctor ever so slightly leading with his long legged strides, pausing briefly every couple of steps to let Clara's short legs catch up. They passed through the large columned threshold of the building before walking through the gigantic ornate pair of iron and wood doors into the echoing heart of the museum.

The Doctor stopped abruptly, tilting his head back to gaze at the domed ceiling above them. The marble floor squeaked beneath the feet of visitors, the excited babble of small children bounced around the open space amidst the distant roars of the dinosaur exhibition. Clara found herself staring openly at the distracted Doctor, watching him breath deeply, the rays of sunshine from the vaulted windows teasing the silver of his hair, dancing happily amongst his curls. With a pull of her hand, he suddenly led her to the right towards a smaller set of marble steps. A triumphant Perseus greeted her, his left arm held aloft, clutching the head of Medusa, his right arm grasping the pommel of his sword. Clara stared wonderingly at his winged sandals.

'Immortalised in bronze,' the Doctor commented, noticing Clara's stare.

The pair continued up the stairs and entered the art gallery, leaving the echoed hall behind them to enter a world of hushed whispers. The Doctor tugged at her hand again, walking quietly but confidently through room upon room before he slowed to a halt, pulling her into the centre of a large room with eggshell blue walls. The pair now stood in front of an entwined couple, wrapped desperately around each other in a lover's kiss.

'Rodin's The Kiss. It depicts the doomed lovers Paolo and Francesca in Dante's Inferno. A smaller bronze edition of the later larger marble statue,' the Doctor whispered in her ear, trailing behind her as she slowly circled the sculpture.

The Doctor spent the afternoon guiding Clara through French Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, discovering each painting anew through her gaze. His whispered descriptions and comments were equally interspersed with her quiet wonder and joy. Clara had soon surmised that the Doctor was sharing something particularly special with her, letting her into his world and mind. His feet trod the wooden floor carefully, with absolute reverence for these hallowed halls of art. The realisation hit her with a thump, her breath catching in her throat as she watched his fingers dance above the surface of the water amongst the waterlilies of Monet.

She left him stood in front of the Monet, her feet pulling her towards a small painting in the corner of the room. The golden glow of crop fields beckoned her from afar, a flock of crows sweeping over the landscape. The swirling pinnacles of tree rose from behind the thatched roofs of small houses. The narrow sky reached up towards the golden ornate frame surrounding the canvas. As Clara approached the painting, the fields and crows, the trees and houses slowly disappeared, leaving behind the swirls of oil paint, thickly laid on the canvas. Scratches of blue overlaid the work, each crop individually wrought in sharp, decisive lines.

'It's beautiful,' Clara muttered, backing away to watch the fields emerge from the turmoil of the oil paint.

'Vincent Van Gogh....' the Doctor stated from just behind her. He watched her slowly edge towards and back away from the painting. Clara tore her eyes away from canvas and turned towards his voice to find a rather sombre looking Doctor watching her. His bright blue eyes had taken on a darker hue, his pupils darting across every inch of the landscape.

'What happened?' Clara asked, positioning herself beside him to look at the painting from his perspective.

'Van Gogh moved to a village just north of Paris in May 1890, he painted thirteen canvases of their gardens and fields. He described them as being as 'boundless as the sea'..... He marvelled over the yellows and greens, the beauty of life. Shortly after he completed this painting he shot himself.' The Doctor said sadly.

Clara silently slipped her hand back into his, trying to desperately dispel the sadness that had engulfed him.

'I'm sorry,' he chuckled suddenly. 'That was a really depressing thing to say, I just hate that he never knew how much joy his paintings have brought people, how much of a genius he truly was. Come on, enough art, let's go see some dinosaurs!' The Doctor exclaimed raising his free hand into a fake claw. She laughed loudly, clamping her hand over her mouth at the disapproving glances from the rest of the gallery's visitors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The museum in this chapter is the National Museum of Wales in Cardiff and it's true we do have Rodin's kiss, Monet and Vincent Van Gogh in our art collection (as well as an awesome dinosaur exhibit). As like all museums in Wales, it's free, so if you ever visit a donation would be much appreciated to keep this magical place alive!
> 
> The Van Gogh described in this chapter is this one: https://museum.wales/art/online/?action=show_item&item=651


	13. The Food Circus

'I can't think of anywhere to go....' Clara moaned, dropping her phone onto the sofa cushion.

'What about the cinema or just go for a drink?' Amy replied from the other end of the sofa.

'I can't....' Clara paused, sighing deeply. 'It's just he took me somewhere really thoughtful and special to him and we had such a great time. I need to do something just as special or at least something a bit more unusual.'

'Ok, unusual/special, I'm on it,' Amy said, starting to scroll through her phone with determination.

Clara had spent days now trying to come up with a suitable date idea for her and the Doctor. She'd thought about taking him vinyl shopping, hopping from charity shop to charity shop to go crate diving, but it wasn't the most glamorous or exciting of dates. He'd already covered the art side of things and the idea of going to the cinema was too mundane, plus, as dates go, what really was the appeal of sitting in the dark not being able to talk to him for over an hour anyway? Food was always a standard bet, but that was the problem really, it was standard, typical, stereotypical even.

'Ooooo, what about this?' Amy exclaimed, leaning forward to pass her phone over to her. Clara took the phone, glancing at the banner image of the Facebook event, a big red and blue circus tent was surrounded by streams of hanging bulbs.

'The circus Amy, not really my thing....'

'Keep scrolling, trust me,' Amy said.

Clara rolled her eyes and continued to scroll down the event page:

**_Food Circus_ **   
_5 Weekends of street food dining, 20 amazing food trucks, cocktails and bars._   
_Street food traders with taste and flavour._   
_Spot the circus tent and join us in Bute Park._

'This sounds awesome!' Clara said excitedly, passing the phone back to Amy with a smile.

'Unusual/special enough for your lover boy?' Amy asked teasingly, smiling smugly in triumph.

'Definitely.'

* * *

 

Wrapped up warmly in a fluffy blue jumper and her black leather jacket, Clara followed the trail of glowing fairy lights through the park towards the entrance of the Food Circus. The Doctor said that he'd meet her there straight from work and, sure enough, she spotted him leaning against the trunk of a tree in his red velvet coat. He was right on time. She rushed happily towards him, immediately enveloping him in a hug. He stooped awkwardly to embrace her, his warm hand spanning across her back. As she pulled back happily, the Doctor bent and placed a quick kiss on her cheek.

'Hello you,' he spoke softly, a faint tinge of red to his cheeks.

'Hi,' Clara replied, her stomach doing small flips as she took in his ruffled hair and the small crinkles around his blue smiling eyes.

'So, how was your day? Convinced anyone else yet that Jane Austen is actually worth a read?' the Doctor asked playfully, relishing in her mirrored grin and the appearance of her dimples.

'You do know that it's just you that has a problem with her right? Even bored, stubborn teenagers can at least admit that she's alright,' she said, poking him in the chest.

'I'm hurt and deeply offended Miss Oswald,' he replied mockingly, rubbing the spot on his chest with a childish pout.

'However will I make it up to you?' Clara said, immensely enjoying this new flirtatious side of her companion. The Doctor stopped rubbing the spot on his chest and brought his hand up to his chin pensively. He tilted his head and stared dramatically off into the distance. Clara giggled at the fake display of thought before her.

'I believe buying me some food may make up for your error in judgement,' he finally announced, winking at her before offering her his hand. She took it gladly as he led her down the slightly muddy grass slope and through the metal event barriers into the circus.

A large red and blue circus tent stood in the middle of the space, the sides were pulled upwards revealing rubber matted floors and numerous tables and chairs underneath the tent. Even more fairy lights and mismatched bulbs hung from wires around the area, shiny metallic streamers fluttered in the breeze from flagpoles and the soft flow of ska music drifted from the centre. Around the circumference of the tent, small food trucks and tents were parked and pitched. The sound of grills and pans sizzling and the hum of people intermingled with the music. Throughout the open grassy space, various other benches and chairs were placed, garden umbrellas were set up intermittently, small tuck tucks being used as additional seating with crates as small tables. The air was warm and people mingled around the food trucks or sat enjoying a pint or cocktail in the balmy evening.

Clara found herself holding the Doctor's hand, a small plastic glass of prosecco in her other hand, a pint of cloudy cider in his free hand, as they slowly wandered past each food truck. The decision of what to eat was becoming increasingly harder as she found herself constantly changing her mind. The aranchini balls and chips from the Italian street food van, the chorizo paella cooking in the gigantic saucepan, the deep fried avocado tacos, the Bombay spiced fries with a thousand island sauce from the _Tukka Tuck_....

'How about you choose and I pay,' Clara suggested as they finally took a seat on a wooden table and bench outside the bar.

'Ok, but how about I choose a main and you can choose the dessert. Just in case I choose something you hate....' the Doctor replied anxiously, rubbing his hand through his hair in what Clara now realised was a nervous tick.

'Deal,' she said, smiling reassuringly whilst handing him some money. She watched as he ungracefully disentangled his long legs from underneath the table and swung them over the bench before heading quickly over to the tent marked _Meet and Greek_. Clara took a sip of her drink, nervously remembering the jolt in her stomach from his lips brushing softly against her cheek. She wondered what it would be like to properly kiss him. He'd embraced the idea of hugging quickly and he now openly initiated some physical contact, but would a kiss be too much for him at this stage? Clara found herself watching him trying to juggle two small paper bags and plastic forks as he headed back towards her.

'I hope it's ok, I know how much you like halloumi,' he said, handing her the paper bag with what she now recognised was a halloumi filled pitta bread. Fresh lettuce and onions surrounded the humus and tzatziki covered halloumi. The Doctor watched nervously as she used her plastic fork to spear some and take a bite. Clara moaned appreciatively, glancing up to see the Doctor now taking a bite of his own. He hummed happily, catching a trickle of escaping tzatziki with his tongue. Now it was her turn to blush as she tried to push inappropriate thoughts of his tongue and her body from her mind.

'So, how was your day?' Clara asked. The Doctor raised his eyebrows, chewing quickly to try to answer her question.

'Fine, you know, just teaching.....' he finally mumbled, taking another large bite of his pitta.

'Are you sure you work at St John's as a teacher and you're not actually some sort of secret government spy because you're really quite cagey about the whole subject,' Clara said, trying to sound playful but not quite able to stop the accusatory tone in her voice.

The Doctor placed his food down onto the table and wiped his hands nervously on his black trousers. 'I erm- I'm used to people's eyes glazing over when I start to talk about work. I've tended to find that that part of my life isn't very interesting. I don't mean to be secretive, I just didn't want to bore you.'

'Doctor, nothing you could say would ever bore me. I mean honestly, with that voice, you could read me the dictionary and I'd be hanging on your every word!' Clara commented. The Doctor sat opposite her, wide eyed and speechless. Clara watched him, puzzled, before her brain finally decided to catch up with her mouth. She'd told him she liked his voice. At least she hadn't said she'd found it sexy....

'You..... you like my voice?'

'It's sexy, it's the Scottish brogue,' Clara replied, her brain apparently on auto pilot. She could feel her cheeks getting red, determinedly avoiding eye contact with him. Stupid, stupid Clara, this was so embarrassing. She felt the warm pressure of his hand on hers, squeezing softly to comfort her.

'Thank you, I don't think I've ever been described as sexy before, I'm flattered. Especially coming from such an intelligent, beautiful woman as you,' he whispered for only her to hear. She looked up shyly, taking in his warm smile. 'Come on, it's your turn to choose the dessert.'

Half an hour later, Clara and the Doctor strolled quietly back through the park, leaving the glow and hum of the Food Circus behind them in the dark. Clara could feel herself dragging her feet as the entrance to the park came into sight. She really didn't want this night to end. An awkward silence fell over them as they reached the gate, the Doctor bit the pad of his thumb, watching Clara scrabble through her bag for her keys.

'I had a great time,' she said, key now in hand, expectantly waiting, but for what she didn't quite know.

'Me too,' the Doctor replied, stepping towards her, gently tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. A small sigh escaped her lips as she felt the whisper of his touch. His eyes darkened, watching her lips intently. In one quick movement he leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, pulling back he gruffly whispered 'Goodnight,' into her ear.

'Goodnight John,' she whispered back, watching him smile and walk away into the darkness of the street beyond. She raised her hand and carefully touched the spot that he'd kissed, her skin was tingling and flushed. This man was going to be the death of her.

 


	14. Supermarket Surprises

'Sorry, I know this isn't the most exciting thing to do together but I really needed to get some food in the house,' Clara said, pushing her trolley slowly through the vegetable aisle.

'I am of course deeply disappointed at our rendevouz but I believe that a blow by blow story of your date with the Doctor may ease my pain,' Amy replied, waving a cucumber in Clara's face.

'Stop it!' Clara said, swatting away the cucumber, unsuccessfully hiding her blushing cheeks from her best friend. 'It went well, really well. We had a great time, had some amazing food, flirted a lot......'

'And.....'

'And that's it,' Clara said, grabbing a pack of avocadoes and placing them inside the trolley.

'Any kissing or.....' Amy prompted, nudging Clara's arm with her elbow.

Clara paused, the rattling of the trolley halting as she stared distractedly at the tomatoes. Her cheek began to tingle at the thought of his lips, that kiss. She softly touched her skin, remembering the distant hum of ska music and the muted glow of fairy lights. In that moment she was sure he was going to kiss her, the night had gone so well, he'd been flirtatious and open with her. Of course she would have loved a romantic kiss from him at the end of the night, but somehow a kiss on the cheek from him was just as special. Any sign of intimacy from his shy, nervous self was a gift.

A loud proclamation from the tannoy system yanked her suddenly from her blissful thoughts and straight back into the stark world of the fluorescently lit supermarket. Shaking her head she picked a packet of cherry tomatoes from the shelf and dropped them next to the avocadoes.

'A kiss on the cheek.'

'Ahhhhh, ok, he's a baby steps kind of guy. I can respect that,' Amy said, smiling at the look of pure joy that had passed across Clara's face just a few minutes before. 'Going to see him again this week then? I'd be more than happy to help in finding an amazing date idea, yet again...'

'Unfortunately not,' Clara sighed, pushing the trolley slowly with one hand whilst she grappled with her back jean pocket, finally pulling out her phone. Glancing quickly between her phone and the aisle ahead of her, she navigated to her text conversation with the Doctor. She passed the phone over to Amy, pushing the trolley onwards towards the rows of bottled milk. Amy read the latest text message, resisting the urge to scroll up through what was a considerable number of growing messages.

_I'm sorry Impossible girl but I'm not free this week at all. The only time I get off at the moment is between 1 and 2 for lunch._   
_I'd like to make it up to you next week though, this time I'll pay and you fetch._   
_Doctor x_

'Impossible girl?' Amy asked, passing the phone back to Clara.

'It's just a silly nickname,' she muttered back. Amy smiled knowingly at her. 'It is!'

'I didn't say a thing. Right, what's next on this mammoth list of yours? Like seriously Clara what have you been living off all this time?'

'Wine and takeaways and more wine,' Clara joked, scrolling down the list she'd made on her phone. 'Chicken is up next.'

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Clara and Amy had finally progressed out of the freezer section and into the bakery aisles, her trolley was now half full and her mental budget was currently reaching its upper limit.

'Anyway, enough about me, what about you, how's work, how's your love life?' Clara questioned, watching Amy roll her eyes and groan. 'That bad?'

'Not bad, work is the same, we read manuscripts and publish books. My love life is non existent as usual, I'm doomed to die alone without human love, only the love of a dozen cats to sustain me. I'm just going to start embracing the crazy cat lady lifestyle,' Amy deadpanned, throwing a loaf of bread down the aisle and into the trolley with a resounding clang.

'Seriously though, nobody at work at all, no aspiring hot young writers?'

'What you mean obnoxious wanky writers or those genuinely nice men that are already taken?'

'Fine ok, what do you like in a man? Maybe I can keep a look out,' Clara hinted, waggling her eyebrows. Amy laughed, taking the trolley from Clara, striding down the aisle with her ridiculously long legs.

'I know it's a cliché but I just want someone nice you know. Just someone to have a laugh with, to enjoy spending time with.' Amy answered sincerely. Clara was suddenly taken aback with the melancholic tone of her voice. She'd never really contemplated that her bubbly, out going friend was, beneath it all, actually quite lonely. 'And, of course if they're smoking hot that would be great too,' Amy added, returning to her usual joking self in the blink of an eye.

'With a large expendable income and a holiday home in the Bahamas. Noted.' Clara joked back, trailing behind Amy as she pushed the trolley towards the alcohol section, passing homeware, DVD's and electronics and the specially branded ' _summer_ ' section. Clara peered curiously down the aisle, her eyes flitting over the stacks of disposable barbeques, bright plastic buckets and spades, wind breakers and kites. She snorted at the optimism of the supermarket regarding the continuation of the British summer. The sun had long since disappeared last week to be replaced by bouts of rain showers and disappointingly grey clouds. Turning to find Amy, Clara paused suddenly. The traditional weaved wicker of a picnic basket caught her eye and sparked the proverbial light bulb in her brain. If he couldn't come to her why couldn't she surprise him at work one day with lunch? After all, she now knew which university he taught at, and, thanks to his last text, his lunch hour.

With a determined expression on her face, she turned her trolley around and headed back towards the sandwiches and picnic foods. Clara hoped the Doctor appreciated that she'd had to sacrifice alcohol in order to afford this surprise on her monthly budget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a miracle that this chapter and the rest of this story still exists. I opened the file this morning to find it had been somehow overwritten with a list of prompts I'd made. I genuinely wanted to cry. Luckily the app I use has a backup system so I found the file whole and complete. Phew.....


	15. St John's

'Hi, I'm looking for Doctor John Smith's office,' she asked the receptionist. 'I might not be in the right building, it's just he teaches Physics, English Lit and Music and well...'

'Don't worry, you're in the right place. We get that a lot actually. Head up the stairs to the third floor, turn left through the double doors and his office is the door at the very end of the corridor,' the receptionist replied with a smile.

'Thanks,' Clara said, shuffling the wicker picnic basket further up her arm. She turned and headed up the stairs, gasping at the beautiful stone masonry of the vaulted ceiling above her .

St John's university was rather reminiscent of Hogwarts in its interior. Rather surprisingly for the modern science building, it too adhered to broad stone staircases and wood panelled walls. Pushing open the double doors, she entered a long corridor lined with numerous wooden doors, each adorned with a small name plaque. _Professor Edwards_ , _Dr Jones_ , _Professor McCarroll_ and there right at the end was _Dr Smith_.

She knocked loudly on the door and waited. The sound of silence greeted her. She knocked again and waited. Still nothing. Tentatively, she tried the door and watched with surprise as it slid slowly open. Looking quickly behind her to check that nobody was around, Clara slipped into the Doctor's office.

His office was large and well lit by a series of ornate lead lined windows, the crest of the university emblazoned on each. A substantial, solid, wooden desk was sat in the centre of the room piled high with papers and strange objects. A striped rug was laid out incongruously to the left of the room upon the weathered dark wooden floorboards. She placed the picnic basket carefully down in the middle of it with a smile. Looking around further, Clara noticed a turn table and speaker system tucked into the opposite corner of the room. Vinyls were shoved into the gaps either side of the speakers whilst numerous more piles were stacked precariously on the floor nearby. She gravitated towards the records, finding her fingers absentmindedly already flicking through the music.

'That's only half of my collection,' the Doctor said.

Clara spun guiltily around to find the Doctor leaning casually on the doorjamb, a soft smile gracing his features.

'I thought since you were busy I should come to you. I wanted it to be a nice surprise,' she said, slightly embarrassed.

'It's the prefect surprise,' the Doctor replied, walking slowly towards her, the same soft smile on his face, before kissing her gently on the cheek.

'I erm- I brought us a picnic, I hope you haven't eaten lunch yet,' Clara stuttered, her cheeks blushing. She pointed over to the basket sat on the rug. The Doctor laughed, shaking his head.

'I can't remember the last time I had a picnic. Thank you,' he said sincerely. Taking the lead, he headed over to the rug and basket and lowered himself slowly to the ground, sprawling his long legs out to reveal bright pink socks with orange question marks on them. Clara giggled quietly at the sight, sitting down crossed legged opposite him.

'I kind of got a mixture of things because I wasn't really sure what you liked. I hope it's alright,' she explained, opening the basket and beginning to pull out various Tupperware boxes. 'So these ones are cheese and pickle sandwiches, these are ham and these are chicken and salad.' Clara said, pointing at each set of sandwiches nestled in one of the boxes. 'And then the other boxes have cocktail sausages, grapes, carrot and cucumber sticks with hummus, and Haribos in them. Oh and I know it's a bit naughty but I brought a small bottle of Prosecco too....' She finished, pulling two plastic champagne glasses from the very bottom of the basket.

'Wow! And, just for the record, I don't mind being a bit naughty,' the Doctor replied. He picked up a cheese and pickle sandwich, pausing with it half way to his mouth as his brain finally realised what he'd just said. He blushed profusely. 'I meant, errrr-, you know, that having a bit of alcohol won't do any harm....' he babbled, going even brighter red. Clara smirked openly at him as she carefully poured the Prosecco into each glass and handed him his.

'Cheers,' she toasted, clinking her glass with his.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in easy, flirtatious conversation. Clara found herself sat much closer to the Doctor as their picnic wore on, his pinky finger stretching out to occasionally brush against her hand as he talked about his week. She found the small contact endearing but also incredibly thrilling. With every other relationship she'd ever had, by this stage she would most definitely have eschewed the innocent romance and would probably have been having unfulfilling sex. But this wasn't some casual fling, this was special, the Doctor was special. Clara sat admiring the man opposite her and his strange sense of style. Today was no exception as he rubbed his hands on his pair of tartan trousers. Surprisingly however, this was the first time that she'd seen him without his customary red velvet coat.

'You're not wearing red velvet,' she commented as he popped a cherry Haribo into his mouth. He chewed slowly, tilting his head in question. 'Every time I've seen you you've worn it.'

'I didn't know you'd be coming today,' he answered simply, scratching the back of his head shyly. Now it was her turn to look at him questioningly. 'It's your jacket. The jacket I met you in. I only wear it when I know I'm going to see you. It's stupid really, it's just a coat.'

'No,' Clara said abruptly, hearing her voice catch slightly with emotion. She tried to ignore the tightness in her throat from his explanation. 'It's not stupid, I love that coat, I love-'

'Hey Doctor! Just dropping off those papers you asked for, sorry it's taken so long. Oh God, sorry I didn't know you had company.'

'It's ok,' the Doctor responded distractedly, still watching Clara. An awkward silence descended on the room as she looked confusedly between the mystery man and the Doctor.

'Are you going to introduce me?' she asked, poking the Doctor in the leg.

'Oh, yeah, of course. Clara this is Rory. Rory's a medical researcher for the university,' he said, pulling himself out of his daze.

Clara stood up, shaking the crumbs off her skirt. 'Nice to meet you Rory.' She shook his hand enthusiastically, returning the friendly smile on Rory's face. 'At least I now know that the Doctor has a social life outside of me,' she joked.

'Well, I wouldn't go so far to say that but I am here to remind him that life does exist outside of this building. Although, from his absence from this office of late, it seems you're doing a better job of it than me,' Rory divulged with a knowing glance towards the still seated Doctor.

'I could say the same thing of you Rory. Those dating apps still not found you anybody,' the Doctor grumbled good naturedly, clicking the lids back onto each Tupperware tub.

'Unfortunately not. Apparently being a single medical researcher who can cook and likes to read is not a lure for the ladies,' Rory said with a small smile. 'Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Nice to meet you Clara.'

'You too.' Clara watched as Rory disappeared around the door, waving happily as he did so. 'He seems like a nice guy,' she commented, kneeling down to help the Doctor put the tubs back into the basket.

'Mmmmm,' the Doctor mumbled. He sat back and started to bite the pad of his thumb. 'Clara,' he started nervously. 'Tell me if this is too big a step but I was wondering if you'd like to come over mine Friday evening, I can cook us a meal.'

Clara's brain yelped happily with surprise, her heart started beating rapidly. 'I'd love to!' she exclaimed, taking his free hand in hers. 'I'd absolutely love to.'

'Great!' he replied just as enthusiastically. 'I'll text you the address this evening.'


	16. No Judging, We've All Done It

'Amy?' Clara inquired, watching her best friend look up from her laptop screen.

'Yeah?'

'How would you feel about a cute medical researcher who likes to cook and read?' she asked, placing a large red tick over one of her student's work.

'Depends,' Amy replied, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Clara.

'Depends on what?'

'What the catch is,' she stated, lowering her laptop to the floor and turning to fully face Clara.

'There's no catch, I promise. Well, none that I'm aware of. He seems like a genuinely nice guy,' Clara explained, picking the next kid's book up from her pile of marking. She opened it with a sigh, yet another title not underlined.

'Ok, where did you meet him then?' Amy said, trying to keep the hint of genuine interest out of her voice. Clara smiled, remembering yesterday. 'Ohhhhhh, he knows the Doctor.'

'How did you know that?' Clara blurted out.

'You had that stupid smile on your face, the one you get every time you think or talk about him,' Amy said mischievously, picking her laptop back up and typing quickly on the keyboard. 'Ok so he works at St John's university was it? And what's his name?'

'Yeah and it's Rory. I don't know his second name,' Clara replied, putting down her marking, which was now definitely a lost cause for the evening, and shuffling along the sofa until she had a clear view of Amy's laptop screen. She shook her head with a smile as she noticed that Amy was currently attempting to Facebook stalk him.

'No judging, we've all done it,' Amy muttered, scrolling slowly down the list of Rory's on the screen. 'Is that him?' she finally asked, pointing at the small profile picture of a man in a blue body warmer, jeans and brown walking boots, stood in front of rolling countryside.

'Yeah that's him.'

'Hello Rory Williams,' Amy said, clicking on his profile and immediately navigating through his photos. She started scrolling through his own uploaded photos before quickly clicking on photos that he'd been tagged in. Various photos appeared of obvious club nights with a group of guys, a few faculty group photos where Clara easily spotted a slightly grumpy looking Doctor in the back row, a surprising number of dinner table shots with friends, well he had said he loved to cook. Overall, a normal Facebook page for a normal guy. 'He's cute,' Amy finally concluded. 'The girl done good!'

'Thanks,' Clara said, laughing.

'Now do me a favour. Message this Rory and try and introduce me in some way.'

'What? Seriously, just like that? I only met him yesterday,' Clara said incredulously as Amy plonked her laptop down onto her lap. 'Fine....' she sighed, used to Amy's slightly unconventional, forward way of getting what she wanted. Clara logged out of Amy's profile and signed into her own. Entering the same search criteria into her own search bar she soon navigated her way back to Rory's profile. With a slight hesitation she hovered her cursor over the 'friend request' button. 'Are you sure about this?' she questioned. Without a reply Amy placed her hand over Clara's and clicked the trackpad. A small confirmation box appeared.

_Friend request sent._

In a surprisingly short stretch of time, in which Amy insisted on looking at all his old profile pictures, Rory accepted her friend request. Clara entered messenger and typed a quick greeting.

_Hi Rory, it was really nice meeting you yesterday!_

'What do you want me to say?' Clara asked, staring at the blinking cursor in front of her.

'Ohhhh, give it here,' Amy said, grabbing the laptop from her with a fake sigh. She smiled at Clara. 'Do you trust that I won't embarrass you in any way?'

'Mmmmmm kind of.'

'Kind of is good enough for me.'

_Hi Rory, it was really nice meeting you yesterday! I know this is a bit cheeky of me but you mentioned yesterday if I knew of anyone looking for a guy like you. I think I do. She works for a publishing house, loves wine and reading too._

Amy paused, letting Clara read what she'd written. She gave a thumbs up and watched as Amy hit the send button. Both pairs of eyes were glued to the screen as the telltale sign of three dots rhythmically moving up and down appeared. Rory was typing back.

_Hey Clara, it was really nice to meet you too! She seems great, and honestly, if the Doctor trusts you I trust your judgement too haha_

Amy quickly copied and pasted the URL to her profile into the message box.

_This is her._

A few seconds later, Rory replied.

_Wow! Are you sure she'd like to meet me? She seems way out of my league......_

_Yeah she'd love to. In fact, she's giving me permission to give you her phone number right now. It's 07654211908._

_Thanks! Tell her I'll message her now. Thanks Clara!!_

Amy scrabbled excitedly for her phone as a loud ping emanated from it. She squealed loudly and thrust her phone towards Clara. She couldn't be happier for Amy as she looked at the thoughtful text Rory had sent her best friend. Taking Amy to a wine bar for their first date was the perfect idea. She passed Amy's phone back to her and opened up her own text messages.

_12 Ravenscourt Road. The house with the big blue door. x_

Clara had forgotten how exciting and thrilling traditional romance could be. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had an invite into someone's home that wasn't a drunken fumble at the doorstep after a night out. This was, in a way, the Doctor showing how much he trusted her. To open up your house to someone was a surprisingly intimate thing to do, especially coming from a man who was normally at best rather withdrawn about himself. She felt her heart do a small flip at the thought of spending a whole evening in private with him. Friday night was definitely the night that Clara Oswald would kiss the Doctor. Properly this time.

 


	17. 12 Ravenscourt Road

It was Friday night, 6pm to be exact and Clara Oswald had just firmly shut and locked her front door. Half an hour earlier she'd had the panicked realisation that she didn't know how much of a date this date was, was this a short little dress kind of date or a jeans and nice top kind of date?

Taking a deep breath and tapping her ring against the bottle of wine she held in her hand, Clara started to head towards the Doctor's house. Her walk took her approximately ten minutes leaving her no time to really consider how nervous she actually was. That was however until she saw his house. It was a classic Edwardian house, large bay fronted windows surrounded by solid red brick. But, just like its occupant, the house was slightly different than the rest of the street. It seemed to be squashed oddly between its neighbours, as though the house was quite an afterthought for the town planners. Clara approached the bright blue painted oak door and searched for some sort of doorbell or knocker. Finding no such thing, she knocked loudly on the door. She waited anxiously on the doorstep, trying not to fiddle with the wine bottle in her hand. Finally, she heard the telltale shuffle of someone approaching the door and there, with a beaming smile on his face, was the Doctor.

'Wow! You look very handsome this evening,' Clara noted in surprise, taking in the sight of the Doctor clad in a printed constellation shirt and suit. She began to panic. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know how to dress so I just wore this....' The Doctor swept his eyes over her tight black jeans, heels and red printed blouse.

'I think you look perfect,' he said honestly. 'Here, is that slightly better?' He asked, shrugging off his suit jacket. She laughed at his thoughtful gesture and offered him the bottle of wine. Taking it, he stepped backwards and gestured her into the house. 'Welcome to 12 Ravenscourt Road, I hope you don't mind but tonight you'll be mostly consuming pasta.'

'Mostly?' she teased, instantly relaxing as she followed him down a narrow hallway and into his kitchen.

'There will now of course be a small amount of wine added to the proceedings,' he answered, winking badly at her. She giggled, watching as he reached into a cupboard and pulled out two matching wine glasses before opening a draw and grabbing a bottle opener. With well practiced ease he uncorked the bottle and poured the white wine. She found herself blushing slightly as he handed her her glass and then knocked the still open kitchen draw closed with his hip. 'Cheers,' he said, his voice noticeably hoarse. She took a large sip, unable to tear her eyes away from his. He simply stood, watching her intently. Clara could feel the unmistakable feeling of desire swoop and settle below her stomach. He set his glass down behind him on the kitchen counter and slowly approached her. Soon she felt the whisper of fabric and the soft thrum of heat emanating from his body. He raised a cautious hand to her cheek, cupping her face gently, his thumb caressing her skin back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. Clara could feel her breath expelling in short gasps, a soft hum escaping her lips as she felt the warmth of his own breath against the shell of her ear. 'You really are perfect to me Clara Oswald,' he whispered. The Doctor pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping her face. She watched his blue eyes darken and the unmistakeable soft tilt of his head as he gently pulled her closer to him.

A shrill alarm started beeping in the kitchen and with a start, the Doctor pulled back suddenly. He turned quickly towards the cooker, pulled the pan off the hob and clicked a few buttons. The alarm stopped. She saw him take a deep breath, his shoulders shuddering before turning towards her again and running his hand through his hair. 'Pasta's done,' he explained, gesturing towards a small table in the corner she had yet to notice. Two big white plates were laid out opposite each other, a large pepper grinder sat in the middle of the table. Clara, still clutching her wine glass headed over to the table and sat down.

Ten minutes later, Clara found herself eating in awkward silence with the Doctor. 'We still have the rest of the evening you know,' she commented with a soft smile, watching a slightly dejected Doctor try to wrangle tagliatelle onto his fork. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. 'I won't say no to another try is what I'm saying,' she explained, watching the Doctor's eyes light up and his whole countenance relax. She smiled encouragingly at him and was rewarded with one of his shy smiles back. 'This really is delicious you know.'

'Do you mind if I have a look around downstairs?' Clara found herself asking after they'd finished their meal and were onto their second glass of wine each.

'I'll come and join you when I'm done,' the Doctor replied, heading towards the sink. Clara walked back towards the hallway, heading for the door directly opposite her. She felt the Doctor watching her from the sink. She smirked and pushed open the door to what she realised was his living room. A pair of soft blue curtains were pulled across the bay fronted windows, the room illuminated by a large modern ceiling lamp. One comfy two seater sofa sat opposite a worn and sunken armchair, a tartan blanket laid over the arm. The Doctor was right when he'd said that his office contained only half of his record collection. Two large wooden bookcases lined one wall, one filled with numerous books, the other with numerous records. Clara found herself gravitating towards the first bookcase, noting the array of books from physics textbooks to H.G. Wells, from The Time Travellers Wife to Bill Bryson. She frowned at the obvious lack of organisation, how did he ever find anything? She moved onto the second bookcases, this at least seemed to be organised by artist. Watching her fingers drift and dance through the record sleeves, Clara paused and slowly slid out one particular record. A recognisable post it note obscured the image of David Bowie stood in a dark street. She slid the record out of the sleeve and watched as a small slip of paper fell from its depths. Placing the record back in its sleeve, she bent down to retrieve the note. On picking it up, Clara realised that it wasn't a note at all, it was a photo. On the back was a scribbled date, February 2016. Turning over the photo, Clara froze in horror.

'Hey, I brought the bottle in, sorry I forgot about dessert I was a bit nervous about all this,' she heard him say. The Doctor frowned at the tensed form of Clara clutching the photograph in white hands.

'What's this?' she whispered, her voice shaking, laced with unshed tears. She turned around suddenly and marched towards him, thrusting the photo into his chest. 'What's this?' she repeated angrily. The Doctor took the photo pushed against his chest and Clara watched as his face dropped.

'Clara, I can explain!' he stuttered loudly.

'Just don't,' she replied, completely deflated. 'I don't want to see you again, don't ring me, don't text me. Do you understand? You lied to me, this was all just one big, far fetched, fairy tale lie.' Without a further word she turned and walked out of his living room, out of his house and out of his life.

The Doctor stood, wine bottle still in hand. He stared numbly at the photograph in his other hand. A photograph of Clara Oswald taken from across the park, looking at flowers. A photograph dated a year before they'd even met.


	18. That's It

Clara couldn't exactly remember the walk home. She remembered wrestling angrily with her key in the lock, she remembered tearing off her clothes and dumping them on her bedroom floor, she remembered numbly changing into her pyjamas and curling up under her duvet but most starkly of all, she remembered the look on the Doctor's face when he'd seen that photo. Clara soon found herself crying. First came the soft trickle of a lone tear which soon turned into a stream clouding her vision, followed by great aching sobs. She cried until she couldn't cry anymore, until she was barely breathing with the pain of what he'd done. She fell asleep eventually, her face lying in the wet patch on her pillow, breathing harshly through her mouth instead of her stuffed up nose. She didn't dream, or at least she didn't remember her dream. When she woke up however, she remembered all that happened last night and she began to cry again.

Mid Saturday afternoon Clara managed to drag herself numbly out of bed, getting dressed and having a shower was too much for her right now, but her need for food was greatly outweighing her wish to stay in bed and mourn the relationship she thought she'd had. She shuffled slowly to the kitchen and managed to make some cereal. She ate it automatically without really tasting it and then shuffled slowly back to bed.

Her Saturday evening was disturbed by a soft pinging of her mobile. She picked it up and blearily looked at the screen. The Doctor had texted her. She threw her phone angrily across the room, hearing it bounce uselessly onto the floor. A few hours later, a soft muffled vibrating noise started. Clara listened to it, staring at the ceiling. She listened until it stopped. She listened to the sound of a barrage of unanswered texts and calls, ignoring each and every one, becoming increasingly angry as he ignored her request not to contact her. Hearing her phone vibrate again, she launched herself out of bed and grabbed the offending device. Amy was calling.

'Hello,' she heard her hoarse, weak voice answer.

'Clara? Are you ok? I've been trying to get hold of you,' a concerned Amy asked. 'Clara?'

'He lied to me. I-' she found herself saying, barely completing the first sentence before breaking down into tears.

'Oh Clara,' Amy said sadly, listening patiently as Clara explained all that happened between broken sobs.

'I really thought this was special Amy, I thought.....' she ended weakly, sniffing loudly, furiously wiping away any stray tears.

'I know. I know.' Amy simply replied. 'Do you want me to come over?'

'Maybe tomorrow.'

'Ok, tomorrow. Do me a favour though, go and blow your nose and make yourself a cup of tea. I'm not going to hang up until you're feeling a bit more yourself, ok,' Amy said kindly, hearing with satisfaction a muffled blowing noise coming from the other end of the line.

* * *

 

'How was your date with Rory?' Clara asked, sipping her freshly made mug of tea, her face red and blotchy but now tear free.

'Are you sure?' Amy questioned sympathetically.

'Yeah, tell me. Just because the guy I liked actually turned out to be a lying stalker doesn't mean all men are,' Clara tried to joke.

'It went really well, he's a really great guy and we're meeting up again next week. I owe you big time Clara. Thanks.'

'No problem, I'm glad you're happy,' Clara replied sincerely, feeling herself smiling at the evident happiness in her best friend's voice.

'Has he tried to contact you?' Amy asked cautiously. She waited, listening to the sound of Clara's breathing.

'Yeah but I didn't answer his calls or look at his texts.'

'So that's it between you forever?'

'That's it.'

And that was it. Clara went to work on Monday, taught, came home, ate and slept. She did this day in day out for the next month. Her weekends were spent reading books, drinking tea, going for small walks, catching up with Amy about Rory and trying to get the Doctor out of her head. She'd found herself trying to avoid anywhere she'd been with him. Spiller's was now out of bounds, as was her usual second hand book shop. But still Clara found herself remembering him. When she drank her tea she remembered the exact number of sugar cubes he'd put in his coffee. Anytime David Bowie was played on the radio or in a shop she imagined him humming along. Teaching Jane Austen at school had become a particular touchstone. She could practically see him ranting about _Pride and Prejudice_ , his long fingered hands gesticulating dramatically, running incessantly through his hair. But, somehow, one month after she'd physically shunned him from her life, Clara found herself stood staring at the Van Gogh painting again. As she watched the rippling surface of the canvas she found the pain and sense of betrayal she'd been carrying around with her evaporating, floating away through the crop fields, past the village and into the blue rainy sky. With a weak smile and a soft sigh, she turned and slowly walked away.

* * *

 

'So how was date number four?' Clara asked Amy teasingly, as they sat in a small coffee shop a few days later.

'Amazing! We errrrr finally, you know.....' Amy insinuated, raising her eyebrows and smiling slyly.

'No wonder you've been so cheerful lately. Was it good?'

'Really good,' Amy replied smugly. Clara laughed and shook her head. 'Rory was asking about you, he said that he's barely seen the Doctor, apparently he only seems to leave his office to teach.'

'Mhmmmm,' Clara hummed noncommittally. She busied herself by scrolling down her Facebook feed. Amy watched sadly.

'So, me and Rory were thinking we should all go out for a drink some time. What do you think?' Amy asked, quickly changing the subject to safer ground.

'Yeah, sounds great!' Clara replied enthusiastically. It would be good to go for a drink and actually have some fun instead of moping over a glass of wine on her own.


	19. Who's Right For Each Other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you to ever single person who's read my fic, to ever single person that's left kudos and to every amazing person that has left such lovely comments on my work. I can't believe how well received this story has been!
> 
> Wishing you all a Merry Christmas with hopefully the right dash of Whouffaldi in that Christmas special.....

'Clara over here!'

Standing on her tiptoes Clara peered over the packed crowd in the bar and noticed Amy and Rory in the corner by the window. Amy was half stood up at the table, waving wildly at her whilst Rory sat next to her, a genuine welcoming smile on his face. Clara waved back and weaved her way through to the crowd towards them.

'Thank God you got here early to get a table,' she half shouted over the rising tide of conversation from the fellow bar goers. 'I can't remember the last time it was this busy!'

'That's because I haven't been able to drag you out in ages,' Amy replied. She pushed a pint of beer towards Clara. 'I ordered for you, pint of Amstel.'

'Thanks,' Clara said, picking up the pint and taking a large sip. 'I feel better already.'

'Week been that bad huh?' Rory joked, wincing slightly as Amy elbowed him softly in the ribs. 'What?' he hissed at Amy's warning look.

'It's ok Amy remember,' Clara stressed. 'And to answer your question Rory, I love teaching I really do but there's only so much I can take of hormonal teenage girls and boys in a week. How's work for you?'

'Great thanks! Yeah, I've actually been asked to help write a joint paper on some new Alzheimer's research that I've been undertaking,' Rory replied, smiling broadly in obvious pride.

'Wow, congratulations!' Clara said. 'I bet you'll need a pretty good playlist to help you write that one.

'I've already started compiling the perfect track list. I mean I should probably be writing a paper outline first but music always is the priority,' Rory laughed, taking another large sip of his beer. 'I'm thinking the theme should be happy memory kind of songs, so it should start with _December 1963_ by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.'

'An absolute classic. What about then following it up with _1973_ by James Blunt?' Clara joked, looking down to see that she'd somehow managed to already drink half of her pint.

'I suggested _September_ by Earth, Wind and Fire,' Amy piped in.

'Which I whole heartedly agreed with but said it would be the rising middle song of my playlist for when I just couldn't find that particular reference I'd been looking for for hours,' Rory said, leaning over to kiss Amy on the cheek.

'Ahhhh it seems I've taught you well Amy, I remember all those times you complained when I put on that particular vinyl,' Clara said, smirking.

'I like the song but hearing it literally twenty times in a row does kind of take the edge off my enjoyment,' Amy protested. 'Right, I need another drink. Does anyone else want anything?'

'It's ok, I'll get this round,' Rory said, already rising from his seat and reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. 'Same again?' He asked, pointing at Clara and then Amy. They both nodded. 'Right, be back in a bit and I expect even more amazing suggestions to aid my work.' Clara watched Amy's eyes follow Rory to the bar and a familiar soft smile spread across her face. It was the same look Clara was sure she'd expressed every time she'd watched the Doctor when he wasn't looking.

'He's a really great guy,' Clara said sincerely. Amy turned quickly back round to look at her, her cheeks reddening at being caught staring.

'You genuinely like him?' Amy asked uncertainly.

'Of course I do you idiot! I mean, look how happy he's making you,' Clara replied, smacking Amy's arm playfully.

'Ok, ok, but the Doctor made you happy and look how that turned out,' Amy muttered quietly before turning to check on Rory's progress at the bar.

'Hey,' Clara said, pulling Amy's attention back to her. 'This between you and Rory is a good thing, a thing based on normal introductions and the truth. Not lies and Apple software.'

'I know, I'm sorry, it's just I haven't been in a relationship in a while and well, it's a bit scary right now. You're right, Rory is right for me, we're right for each other,' Amy replied, smiling.

'Who's right for each other?' Rory questioned, placing their pints on the table and taking his seat again. Amy looked panicked at Clara, her eyes widening, urging her to think of something to say.

'Elton John and your playlist of course,' Clara said hastily. Rory looked confusedly between her and Amy.

'Elton John?'

'Yeah, _Crocodile Rock_ , 'I remember when rock was young....' Clara expanded, taking the first sip of her second pint to hide the small laugh that was threatening to escape from her mouth.

'Unusual, but I'll give it to you,' Rory relented. 'Has Amy told you about when we went to that tapas bar the other day? The weirdest thing happened....' 


	20. I'm No Mr Darcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing you a slightly early Happy New Year! Only one more chapter after this one but I've got some other stories lined up and waiting to go. Enjoy!

_I had a great time last night, thanks for dragging me out Amy. Rory is perfect for you, when you're married, just remember I set you both up.... Xxx_

KAPLUNK! Clara shifted on the sofa, trying to peer into the hallway. The postman had already been this morning and she couldn't remember ordering anything online. Walking into the hallway, she paused at the sight of a small, badly wrapped, brown paper package. There was nothing written on the front and no return address. With a frown she picked it up and headed back into the living room.

_Amy, did you drop by anything at my house? Xx_

_You're welcome about last night and no, why? Xx_

_No reason, I must have ordered something drunkenly online :)_

Clara carefully opened the package, discarding the brown paper to find a hard copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. She opened the book and flicked forward to the publication date.

'Oh my god,' she gasped. Clara Oswald held in her hands a first edition, original copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen. She turned the page reverentially, tempted to go run and put on a pair of gloves before reading any further. A small envelope was encased between the title page and the first chapter. On it was scrawled her name. Opening the envelope she proceeded to unfold the letter inside and read:

_To my Impossible girl,_

_I don't think that words can truly express how sorry I am, nor do I think that in any way this will truly help in mending what I so stupidly broke between us._

_You once asked me why I hated Pride and Prejudice so much, the truth is that I don't hate it, not anymore. How can I hate a book that reminds me so deeply of you? How could I ever hate you?_

_I admit, that I did once hate the book, but for the very simple reason of Mr Darcy's original deception of the woman he loved. He believed himself to be right and eschewed all basic communication, I couldn't conceive that such a perfect gentleman could do such a thing. I fully appreciate the irony now. And, I too, like Mr Darcy, believe that the best way to explain is through a letter._

_Yes, that photo was taken a year before we met. And yes, I was aware of seeing you on and off since then. I won't lie and say I didn't walk through the park in order to catch a glimpse of you, or that when I saw you in the gallery or the book shop I couldn't resist staying just a fraction longer than was necessary. I often hoped I'd see you, but I never deliberately followed you anywhere Clara. I never stalked you Clara. I can also tell you honestly and truthfully that Venice was a complete coincidence, my shock at seeing those photos was real._

_I'd always wanted to say hello but I was always too shy. Why would a woman like you be interested in an old professor like me? And then I caught you in that horrendous club. I'd lost Rory that night and was just about to leave. This time I couldn't let you walk away again, so I left that message with the bar tender._

_I was stupid not to tell you all this at the coffee shop, even stupider not to disclose it under the willow tree and absolutely, inexplicably idiotic to not tell you at any point afterwards. The moment you took my hand in the rain Clara, I was lost, and I couldn't bear to lose you._

_I'm sorry. Please, in time, forgive me._

_The Doctor_   
_X_

Clara sat staring at the scribbled letter in front of her. She wiped away a teardrop clinging to her cheek. Her heart ached as she read it all over again. Carefully, she folded up the letter, put it back into the envelope and slid the whole thing back inside the book.

THUD! Clara's head shot up suddenly, she hastily placed the book down onto the coffee table and ran into the hallway. A larger, badly wrapped, brown paper package lay on the floor. Quickly stepping over the package, she wrenched open her front door.

There he stood, black jeans and boots, holey jumper, grey curls and a red velvet coat. He looked briefly surprised before guiltily muttering, 'I forgot to give you that the first time round, sorry, I'll go now.'

'You must admit me to tell you how much I admire and love you...' she whispered, taking a small step out of her door towards him.

'What?' he replied incredulously.

'That's how Mr Darcy would have done it,' she said, stopping just before him, placing her hand on his chest.

'I think we've discovered that I'm no Mr Darcy,' the Doctor uttered, mesmerised by the feel of her small hand above his rapidly beating heart. He leant towards her, watched as her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation.

'No, but I love you all the same,' she admitted quietly. He brushed his lips gently across hers, revelling in the sharp zap of desire lurching through his stomach. He felt rather than saw her smile, her hand becoming entangled in his hair, scratching slowly at his scalp. She felt his hand cup her cheek as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving more frantically across her own. Her nose bumped awkwardly against his as they both tried to alter their angle. She huffed out a small laugh and pulled away for much needed air. His hands squeezed her waist slowly, his cheeks now matched the colour of his jacket, his eyes dancing with joy. She could hear herself breathing rapidly, a soft lazy smile on her face.

He leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

'Did you want to come inside?' she offered. He nodded, grabbing her hand for reassurance as she turned and pulled him up the step and into her house.

'Clara.....'

'I know,' she smiled, leading him gently towards her bedroom. He smiled shyly back.


	21. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said it before but I want to say it again. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this fic, to those who left kudos and most amazingly to those that commented. I honestly didn't think so many people would love Guess Who?
> 
> This is sadly the final chapter but I'm currently working away on another story and I have a few oneshots nearly complete too!

'Morning.'

'Hi,' she whispered sleepily, softly kissing the Doctor's bare chest. She smiled at the feel of his hairy legs entangled with hers, at the calm beating of his heart underneath her ear. He hummed happily and kissed the top of her head.

Sex with the Doctor had been awkward and messy and full of laughter. Sex with the Doctor had been real. Clara laughed quietly at the memory of him almost falling over as he tried to pull off his jeans, at his slightly fumbling attempt to take off her bra. She squashed down the rising desire as she remembered his hoarse whispers in her ear as he delicately stroked her clitoris, the way he'd held her hips softly as he'd waited for her consent, the small gasp and groan he gave as they finally joined. Clara would like to say that she'd seen stars, that they'd climaxed simultaneously in the heat of passion, but that didn't happen. Instead he finished first, bright red and apologising profusely until she'd pressed her lips urgently against his. What she'd never forget was the look in his eyes of pure adoration as he slowly lowered himself down her body and pressed his lips reverently to her inner thigh. The next fifteen minutes had been a haze of pleasure as she'd desperately clutched at the head of grey curls buried between her thighs. She'd later deny the tears that had formed in her eyes as he'd taken her in his arms. What she would never deny were the exchanged whispers of I love you in the aching, soft glow of the afternoon sunlight.

Clara woke again a few hours later still nestled into the side of a now dressed Doctor. She pouted and dug her hand underneath his jumper, feeling his skin flinch at her cold fingertips. He chuckled.

'Why'd you get dressed?' she asked sulkily.

'I went to go get you this and your apartment is surprisingly cold in the morning, even in the middle of summer,' he answered softly, his voice laced with amusement at her consternation. She raised her head slowly and opened her eyes to find the Doctor clutching the larger package he'd dropped off yesterday.

'You gave me a first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. Are you bananas? Do you know how much they cost?' she suddenly exclaimed. He merely shrugged and handed her the package. She slowly propped herself up, revelling in the slight ache between her legs, and tore away the brown paper.

'This is your copy,' she said simply, trying to hand it back to him. 'You bought it first.'

'No, I cheated with a post it note system which I used and abused. I want you to have it. And at least I'll have one guaranteed good record I can play when I come round,' he teased, pressing the copy of _Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars_ back into her small hands. Wordlessly she kissed him, hoping to convey in that one kiss how foolish but wonderful he truly was.

'I hate to say it but I think we should probably leave this bed before it gets dark. Did you want to go for a walk?' she asked, pulling her hand from underneath his jumper.

'Why not?' the Doctor said with a smile, watching as Clara got out of bed and walked naked towards the bathroom. The door shut softly behind her and a few minutes later he heard the whoosh of water from the shower head curving around the body of Clara Oswald. Trying to avoid the temptation to join her, the Doctor picked up the record and headed into the living room to locate her record collection.

Half an hour later, after showering and dressing and finally pulling the Doctor away from her turntable, the pair were walking hand in hand down the street. Clara hoisted her bag further up her shoulder and clutched the side protectively.

'What's in there?' the Doctor asked, squeezing Clara's hand.

'A new beginning,' she replied mysteriously. 'Come on, this way.'

'The park?' he questioned, spying the familiar black fencing and riotous flower beds. 'I mean there's nothing wrong with the park,' he continued after a sharp look from his small companion, 'but how does this help with a new beginning?' Clara smiled smugly and continued to lead him past the fencing and along the winding path. He watched as Clara sharply analysed each flowerbed they passed before she finally came to a halt. Letting go of his hand, she slowly and carefully opened her bag and pulled out an expensive looking large digital camera.

'I haven't used this in a long time but I thought that it would be appropriate to start again, don't you? This is the exact flowerbed that features in your first ever photo of me. I think it's time for a new set of photos, a new beginning,' she explained, gesturing for him to come and stand next to her, their backs to the flowers. He crouched slightly, wrapping his arm around her waist and grinned. Clara took the photo and excitedly flipped the camera around to see the results.

'Looks like a good start to me,' the Doctor said.

'Me too,' Clara replied softly.


End file.
